


Remorse *ON HIATUS*

by Bithya



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: 1944, Dom/sub Undertones, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Mild S&M, Narcissism, Oral Sex, Psychic Violence, Sadism, Sex, Sexual Violence, Tragedy, Violent Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-13
Updated: 2018-03-13
Packaged: 2018-09-21 20:08:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 15
Words: 28,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9564377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bithya/pseuds/Bithya
Summary: +++ ON HIATUS +++As I'm in a psychiatry for several weeks, this story will be on hiatus for a while. It will definitely be continued though!Time travel fanfiction, in which Hermione finds herself in the year 1944, the last year of Voldemort's time at Hogwarts. Not knowing how she got there and for what purpose, she joins force with Dumbledore to find a way back to the future, back to the battle of Hogwarts. During her stay she gets close to people she has always thought of as evil, only to discover that even monsters can have many layers. Will she be able to save the future in the past?Please note that this is a translation of my German fanfiction Reue, which is already half way finished. Also, since English is not my native language, I am open to any and all suggestions and corrections. Please feel free to roast my writing.





	1. PART I - AT THE MERCY OF EVIL

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Reue *PAUSIERT*](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3875692) by [Bithya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bithya/pseuds/Bithya). 



> Hello lovely readers,
> 
> and welcome to the translation of my fanfiction about Tom Riddle. It is a time travel fanfiction that takes us back to 1944, where we will meet the young version of Lord Voldemort. This alone should imply that this fanfiction is not for the weak. The Tom Riddle I created is a young man with mental health issues and a black soul. If you decide to continue on this journey, you will learn a lot about psychology and magical theory, but please be aware: This story will go into morally grey, perhaps even black areas and there will be sexual as well as mental abuse. It is not for everyone, especially younger readers should think twice.
> 
> But if you indeed are not scared away by now: Welcome! Make yourself at home, take a cup of tea and read on. I will from time to time talk to you directly at the end of a chapter, perhaps to give you hints about future events, perhaps to get you totally off track - feel free to join in and solve this ... riddle.
> 
> Also, as writing the German fanfiction has priority, I will update this translation only when I have time for it. Please be patient :)

****

 

* * *

 

 

**CHARACTERS**

 

 

**_Hermione Granger_ **

_Actress:  Emma Watson_

_Age:  19 years_

_At Hogwarts:  7th year, Slytherin_

 

**_Tom Riddle_ **

_Actor:  Christian Coulson_

_Age:  17 years_

_At Hogwarts:  7th year, Slytherin_

 

 

_**Abraxas Malfoy** _

_Actor:  Jamie Campbell Bower_

_Age:  18 years_

_At Hogwarts:  7th year, Slytherin_

 

 

_**Rufus Lestrange** _

_Actor:  Oliver Goodwill_

_Age:  17 years_

_At Hogwarts:  7th year, Slytherin_

 

 

_**Orion Black** _

_Actor:  Ben Barnes_

_Age:  15 years_

_At Hogwarts:  5th year, Slytherin_


	2. I

__

 

 

_"It is not that we have so little time_

_but that we [...] use what we have wastefully."_

 

**\- Lucius Annaeus Seneca.**


	3. I.1 - Prologue

 

"Ron, wait for me! I don't want to get lost down here!"

Breathing heavily, Hermione tried to catch up to her best friend. The maze of tunnels, some already collapsed, others hardly passable, scared her and just thinking about losing Ron in all this haste made her stomach grow cold. Unlike her, he already had been down her, many years ago, in company of Harry to rescue his little sister Ginny from the monster lurking in the Chamber of Secrets. It had been a god given idea to come down here to get one tooth of the now dead basilisk, that would still hold its poison, a poison strong enough to destroy a Horcrux. What was more, Ron had actually been able to repeat the words spoken in Parsel that Harry used long time ago to open the chamber.

After Harry had left them, both had not been able to sit still and do nothing. All around them, the battle of Hogwarts was in full force, Death Eater and Voldemort himself had broken their way into the castle ground. The fact that finding the Horcrux alone would not be enough had just then been the catalyst of that very idea which led them deep down underneath the castle.

Panting, Hermione noticed that Ron had stopped in front of another door with many snakes on it, eyeing it sceptically.

"I remember this gate. We need to open it with Parsel, too," Ron explained: "Let's hope it's the same words. I don't remember any other."

Magnetised, Hermione watched as her friend once again opened his mouth to form those strange hissing sounds, which had already opened up the tunnel back in the toilet of Moaning Myrtle. To both their relief, the snakes started to move and the gate swung back. What lay behind took Hermione's breath away: An enormous hall, dark and gloomy, illuminated only by an ominous green light that was enough to reveal large statues. At the far end of the hall there was a puddle of water and in it lay the dead basilisk. Without hesitating, Ron ran towards it, but Hermione, who saw all this for the first time, took her time.

Fascinated she studied the lithic snakes, let her gaze glide over the high ceiling, searching for the source of the green light – until something caught her attention. There, just to her right, at the back of one of the snake statues, totally out of place in this grand hall, was a painting with a golden frame. Curious, Hermione stepped closer, while also making sure that Ron did nothing stupid alone with the basilisk.

When she finally was close enough, Hermione discovered that the painting had to be some kind of portray, hanging about as high as her own head. Just a few feet away, Hermione stopped in her track, taken aback, ice cold fear rushing through her veins. In front of her, smiling and winking, the hair neatly done into a bun, was herself, obviously wearing a Slytherin school uniform. Unable to form any coherent thought, she dared to take another step to touch it, test whether this strange painting actually was real.

As soon as her fingers touched the cheek of her own painted face, Hermione knew she had made a mistake. The time turner she had found in Dumbledore's office and without thinking about it taken with her, started to spin uncontrollably. Aghast, Hermione stared at the little golden thing while it still spun faster and faster.

After what felt an eternity, the little hourglass stopped and a quiet clicking told Hermione that it had reached the intended time. The room around her now started to spin. She knew exactly what was happening, but was not able to do anything to prevent it. The painting of herself was the last thing she saw, winking at her and smiling encouragingly, then everything turned blurry and the all too familiar feeling of traveling through time consumed Hermione.

A sharp pain shot through her breast, followed by her own scream. The dizziness subsided, the time travel obviously finished. Still feeling sick, Hermione noticed that she lay on a cool stone floor that definitely was neither wet nor rough. She no longer was inside the Chamber, but instead found herself in the bathroom of Moaning Myrtle.

"Miss?" a male voice sounded through the door. "Are you in need of assistance?"

Hermione was sure she recognized that deep voice, but at the same time she knew that it was totally foreign to her. But that did not matter at the moment – how could anyone be so calm during a battle? The question had to be the dumbest she had ever heard.

"Obviously not!" she yelled back. She did not really care about the strange man on the other side of the door. Nervously, she fumbled for the time turner on her breast. Another scream escaped her lips when she discovered what exactly had caused her pain. The time turner had melted and cut deep into the sensitive flesh of her bosom.

"Miss, I would really like to be of help. Will you allow me to enter the bathroom?" the annoying male voice forced her attention away once again.

Annoyed by the unnecessary politeness, Hermione rolled her eyes, but fear and confusion were still dominating her, so she was thankful for any kind of help: "Yes!"

Slowly, the door opened and Hermione, who was still sitting on the floor, first noticed a boot that was visible under a heavy magician's robe. Her gaze turned upwards, tracking the robe, noticing the auburn beard and from there instantly jumped up to the face of the man.

In front of her was no other than Dumbledore. Dumbledore as he would have looked over fifty years ago, presumably. Dumbledore, who had been murdered a year ago by Snape.

As if it was the most natural thing in the world to see a girl in jeans and a jumper sitting on the bathroom floor, he stepped closer and kneeled down. His eyes instantly found the reason for her pained screams, but instead of helping her, he glanced up and took her gaze captive with his own: "I am not mistaken if I assume this object once has been a time turner, am I?"

Helplessly, Hermione nodded. The melted gold on her breast still hurt, she was at a place she should not be – and in front of her stood her beloved professor, who really should be dead.

"What year do you think it is?" he asked quietly, his voice full of sympathy.

The fact that he obviously suspected the same thing she did only deepened Hermione's panic: "1998".

She could see his eyes lighten up with surprise and curiosity, but his voice was sad when he answered: "It pains me to tell you that we are currently in the year 1944."

 

* * *

Trembling, Hermione sat on a chair, fingers clasped around a cup of tea as if it could sooth her mind, while she was trying to fight the panic. Dumbledore had cut the remainder of the time turner off her chest before healing her. The molten lump of gold now lay in front of her on his desk.

"The painting of you has activated the time turner," Dumbledore mused, his gaze fixed upon something far away outside the window.

Even though she knew he would not see it, Hermione nodded. That made no sense. Why had there been a painting of her in the Chamber of Secrets? Why the Slytherin uniform? How could the time turner have send her back in time on its own? Was it even possible to travel back almost fifty years? Every question that formed in her mind only led to more questions, and Hermione had to fight to stay sane.

"I need to go back," she whispered, "It's war. They need me. I have to go back."

Silence loomed over them as Dumbledore still was deep in thought. It was obvious to Hermione how serious he was on this matter, because the familiar twinkle in his eyes was nowhere to be seen. A small voice inside of her told her that it was a good thing that she was here with Dumbledore. Dumbledore knew of her problem, Dumbledore would help her.

Dumbledore was dead.

Tears formed in her eyes, but Hermione forced herself to not let him see it. She still had no idea what had happened, but her brain told her that she could not under any circumstances tell this man anything about the future that would change the timeline. She was not allowed to warn him about his death. She was not allowed to tell him that she was alive when he died.

"I am deeply sorry, Miss Granger," Dumbleore said at last after turning back to her. "I own a time turner myself, but as the term itself indicates – it is an object that can turn back time. It is impossible to use it to travel to the future. It is possible to go back in time, but impossible to go forward."

Hermione slumped. Of course she had already known that. Back in Hogwarts during her third year, when Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall had explained everything about the time turner so she could take several classes at once, this had been one of the basic things they had emphasised over and over again.

She was stuck.

"The problem is even greater."

The concern in Dumbledore's voice made Hermione tremble again. Of course, she, too, regarded her situation as something very serious, but there was more in that tone. She tilted her head inquisitively.

"Time travel is a serious business. Even the pure existence of a human being in the wrong time can have an impact. You, as I am sure, are aware of the fact that under normal circumstances, a time travel only lasts for several hours, a few days at the most."

Hermione nodded, her body now completely tense. What was her old – or future? – headmaster playing at?

"The common way to get back into one's original timeline is to just return to the exact spot one has started from."

Again Hermione nodded. She remembered too well all those classes back during her third year where she had to run fast to get to the exact right spot. She also remembered how she had been running through the whole castle, Harry at her side, to get back to the infirmary after rescuing Sirius and the hippogriff. Every time she would leave her own timeline, spend a few hours in the past and then return to the now changed life from the starting point.

"That is one of the reasons why as of yet no one has travelled too far back – at least no one we know of, who survived and could tell us about it. If you travel too far back, you cannot return to your starting point without the people who knew you noticing the difference in appearance. Even if you would now live fifty years and reach that point in 1998, you would be an elderly woman, not a school girl. It would be impossible to continue your newly created timeline as it normally is intended."

Hermione got that point, but she still did not understand, why Professor Dumbledore sounded so sad saying those things. She wanted to cry, because everything seemed so helpless, but his behaviour awoke the suspicion that there was even more to the problem than she saw.

"Time is not just a linear construct which extends from point A to point B, Miss Granger," Dumbledore finally explained. "Time is more. Perhaps there is more than one present. Perhaps once the future existed before the past that you know. We only know one thing for sure – regardless of all efforts and scientific endeavours of many generations of witches and wizards, it has never been possible to freely travel back and forth through time. Time turner are very powerful, very rare objects, their extensive usage can hurt or even destroy them, as you yourself so painfully experienced. It appears as if time itself fought against us playing with it or changing it. Time itself does not tolerate time travel."

An icy lump formed inside of Hermione's stomach.

"Traveling back a few hours or even days might be tolerable. The time spent in the past is short enough to be tolerated. But a longer stay, time will not allow. There is exactly one occasion we know of where a longer time travel was attempted and the account is not positive."

"Just tell me what this all is about," Hermione demanded, her body tense, her fingers clenched into fists. The panic she had been able to control in the beginning now returned with new force, fed by very different sources.

"A wizard travel back two years. At first, everything seemed to go swimmingly, he was able to find friends and allies in the past, who knew about his time travel. But then ... well, time does not tolerate intruders. Time does now allow anyone to stay for a longer period. Anyone who does not return to his starting point in a sensible amount of time – dies."

Hermione's face lost all colour while all she could do was stare at the bearded man in front of her.

"One year. Perhaps not even that long. That is the amount of time you will be able to spend here, Miss Granger. If you do not find a way back into your own time before that, you will die."

 


	4. I.2 - Prologue

Still stunned from everything that had happened to her that day, Hermione lay on a small bed and stared at the ceiling. She was going to die, alone, without friends, not because of the war, but on the contrary, far away from it. She was trapped in the past, without any chance to contribute to the defeat of Voldemort.

Professor Dumbledore had looked sad as he explained the problems with her time travel, but soon after he regained composure and had suggested that she could sleep in one of the small guest rooms. The rest of the students would return back after summer only in two days, and apart from him and the headmaster, the school was empty. He would help her, he had promised, he would do whatever he could to find a way to go forward in time. For now, they would not tell anyone about her real background, so all the headmaster knew was that Dumbledore had a surprise guest. Obviously the trust Professor Dippet had in his transfiguration professor was big enough to not ask any further questions.

Annoyed by herself, Hermione sat up. She was not the type to lay down quietly and just accept fate. If Professor Dumbledore was trying to find a solution, she could at least help him. Determined she undressed and put on the pyjama that had been provided for her. She was not sure whether she would actually be able to sleep, but she knew she had to rest. Tomorrow would mark the beginning of her quest back to the future.

* * *

 

 

“Slytherin was not your house in your time?” a surprised looking Dumbledore asked. Hermione sat in his office, face red with excitement, and took a sip of hot tea. He had invited her over for breakfast and instantly noticed that she wanted to tell him something.

“Exactly! I was a Gryffindor,” Hermione emphasised, “but the painting showed me in a Slytherin uniform. I am absolutely certain that there has never been such a painting of me.”

Deep in thought, Dumbledore tracked the edge of his cup with one finger. Then, with a sigh, he put it back on the table and replied: “The way you described the painting, it seems to be part of our honorary gallery.”

“A gallery, sir? What do you mean?”

“That doesn’t exist in your time? The gallery for the best of the best of every year. If you would follow me, please, it is just around the corner.”

Puzzled, Hermione stood up and followed her professor down the hallway and just around one corner. There, covering almost the whole left side of the hallway, hung countless paintings of young wizards and witches.

“For eternities, we honour the best witch and the best wizard of every graduating year with a painting. After receiving their certificate, they get their painting done so that future generations of students have idols to look up to. These students represent our finest graduates, they represent Hogwarts in the whole wizarding world. Almost all of them have had a long, wonderful career and contributed immensely to magical theory and science.”

Unable to give any response, Hermione stared at the paintings. Obviously, as soon as she had thought about her Slytherin uniform this morning, she had sensed that it was somehow important. But to see that her painting would perfectly fit into this gallery, to see that every painting here was done in the exact same style as hers, that definitely exceeded her expectations.

“What is the meaning of this, professor? Why is there a painting of me that would fit here perfectly?”

“Perhaps because it belongs here?” Dumbledore simply replied.

Both lost in thought, they returned to his office.

“So, does that imply have been here before?” Hermione at last asked after they settled back at the breakfast table.

Her future headmaster scratched his long, brown beard: “It certainly is a possibility, yes. I indeed do believe it is the most probable explanation.”

“But … why was it in the Chamber of Secrets? How did it end up there? Why am I here again?”

“Not again, Miss Granger. You have never before been here. Not in this timeline.”

Confused, Hermione shook her head: “I don’t get it. What do you mean? Please, just tell me what you are thinking.”

“It appears,” Dumbledore murmured without actually addressing her, “that you indeed have done this time travel before. Furthermore, it appears that you yourself made sure you would repeat the time travel. The painting and the time turner both have been prepared in such a manner that it would interact with each other. Obviously, the painting would not activate the time turner on its own.”

“It was me? I sent myself back?” Hermione replied amazed. Dumbledores explanation was so stunning that she did not even feel any shock or anger, she was just perplexed. Desperately, she tried to make sense of all of this.

Her professor continued his explanation: “Only you and me know, or better: knew that you were here. That you are here. Of course there is the possibility that we tell someone else, but I don’t really believe that. Every confidant only increases the risk that something is changed that could affect the future. So, if we assume that only you and me knew about your time travel, only you or me could have planned it. Apart from you and me, no one could possibly have known that at that fateful day in 1998 you would wear a time turner while visiting the Chamber of Secrets.”

Instinctively, Hermione felt that Dumbledore’s words were rational, but she herself was just not able to fully grasp the meaning. Her head hurt while she tried to make sense of the concept of time travel.

“So, if it was actually me – why? Why did I sent myself back here again? On that day, to make it worse! We’re at war! They need me, I have to help, every hand that can hold a wand is important!”

Curiosity was visible in Dumbledore’s eyes: “Even yesterday you mentioned that war. Are wizards fighting each other?”

Hermione took a sharp breath. She was not allowed to tell anything, she could not risk Dumbledore changing the future because he had knowledge he should not have. Even though this was Dumbledore, the all-knowing professor who always seemed to do right, even he would not be able to resist using that forbidden knowledge.

“I am so sorry, sir, but I must not tell you anything about the future. Yes, there will be war in the wizarding world, but I cannot tell you more even if I wanted to.”

For a brief moment, she thought her professor looked impatient and angry, but if that emotion really had been there, it was just as quickly gone again. Instead, Dumbledore took a sip of tea before uttering his next thoughts: “That war obviously is important, something is at stake there. The other you that has sent you here certainly would have been in the exact same situation. There must have been a reason to do this even though you are so desperately needed in 1998. Can you imagine any reason that would justify this time travel?”

Confused, Hermione blinked a few times. It was not the question itself that bothered her, but the tone and way he had presented it. Just like a teacher would ask a student in a way that the student would find the right answers on his own. Suddenly, she started to understand why Harry had been so angry at Dumbledore during the lasts months of their cooperation in finding out more about horcruxes. This patronising tone Dumbledore had just used would annoy sooner rather than later. Determined, not to get lost in these negative thoughts, Hermione focused on the question he had asked.

“Perhaps something has happened here?” she mused, before she realized what exactly she had just said: “Of course! I must have done something during this time that affects the future!”

Hermione’s mind was racing – what did she know about Voldemort? When had he attended Hogwarts? Was it possible that in the year 1944 he was still a student? Of course she could simply ask Dumbledore whether there was a student with the name of Tom Riddle. But this question alone would tell this young version of Dumbledore already too much about the future. Desperately she tried to remember. If she was not mistaken, she had once read that Riddle graduated from Hogwarts in 1945. So he would start his seventh year at Hogwarts this summer, probably being seventeen years old.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow, the boy that one day would turn into a monster, that would force her to erase her parent’s memory, the monster that would kill Harry’s parents and start all of these awful things, this boy would as soon as tomorrow step through the gates of Hogwarts. She was here. He was not as powerful yet as he later on would be. Would she be able to kill him? To end it before it even started?

“If…” Hermione started, but she had to clear her throat before being able to continue speaking, “if the person that is responsible for the war would die in this past…”

“Miss Granger!” Dumbledore harshly interrupted her: “Regardless of what I think about what you just insinuated – that is not the solution! If you kill him now, in the future there will be no need for you to undertake this time travel, so you would not travel to the past, thus not killing said person. In the end, that person would live on and again start the war. Whatever you once have done in this past, it did not change the fact that there will be war.”

Disappointed, Hermione sank back in her chair. Obviously Dumbledore was right. She could not possibly do anything that would change her need to travel back in time in the first place. But still, she was certain that she travelled back in time because of Voldemort. It just could not be a coincidence that she found herself at the start of Voldemort’s last year at Hogwarts. Thanks to Harry, she knew that Voldemort had opened the Chamber of Secrets during his fifth year, thus proving he was Slytherin’s heir to his most trusted followers. Would she be able to perhaps do something now while he was still recruiting future Death Eaters that would weaken him later on? That had to be the reason why she was here.

With new found determination she explained: “I will be able to do something here that will influence the war in the future, I am sure of it, sir. Here, in Hogwarts. I don’t know yet what that will be, just as I don’t know whether I will ever get back alive to see that influence, but I am here and I have to do it. If I have to pay with my life for the survival of everyone I love, if I thus can save the world from darkness, I am prepared to pay that price.”

This time she was sure that she had interpreted the quick flicker of emotion in Dumbledore’s face correctly: pleased, but cold calculation mixed with pride. Had not even Harry himself had to fight off the feeling of being used by Dumbledore? The feeling of just being a pawn in a game of chess he could not fully grasp? Did Dumbledore perhaps see exactly that in her, too: a pawn, an unexpected, interesting part of the big chess game, but in the end still just a pawn?

She shook her head at herself. It did not matter, because she knew more than him, she knew the future, thus it would be impossible for him to use her.

“So you want to attend school,” Dumbledore resumed the conversation, “what was your year at Hogwarts in 1998?”

“If it had not been for the war, I would have finished school this year. I missed the final year, though I am nearly nineteen now.”

“I understand. You will attend Hogwarts as a seventh year student, then. You have been a Gryffindor, if I understood correctly?”

Just as Hermione wanted to nod, she remembered something: “In 1998, I was a Gryffindor, yes, but the painting showed me in a Slytherin uniform. I guess I should be in Slytherin, then.”

Absentminded, Dumbledore nodded, obviously thinking about a different problem now. Patiently Hermione waited until he decided to share his thoughts.

“It is uncommon for students to switch schools in the middle of their career,” he told her, “so we would need to craft a good background story for you as to why you suddenly appear here. There are some very intelligent students here that would question everything about you.”

Hermione had a suspicious who exactly that intelligent student would be, but she did not comment on it. Her future headmaster was right, though, she needed a story.

“Perhaps … I could be the daughter of your brother, Aberforth Dumbledore?” she at last suggested. To disguise herself as a relative of Dumbledore would be the easiest solution to her problem.

If Dumbledore was surprised that she knew of his brother, he did not show it: “Regrettably, my brother does not have a wife and as far as I know there never has been any woman.”

Thinking, Hermione ran her fingers through her hair: “I could be the child of some love affair many years back. Nobody can prove that he never had any woman. Also, she could have died. That’s why I am here. Yes, exactly. I am American and I got here with a letter by my late mother so that my father can take care of me.”

“That is not very much” Dumbledore worried.

Hermione shook her head: “That’s exactly why it’s a good story. Lies tend to be complex while the truth oftentimes is very simple. It’s enough for a start, if I need more, I can add to it on the go.”

“You do not sound American, though.”

Hermione just laughed at that: “Yes, because my mother was British and insisted on teaching me the proper way to speak. At the same time, being American would excuse any lapse I have with adjusting to these very different times.”

At that, Dumbledore finally agreed: “Fine. I will talk to Professor Dippet, who is currently the headmaster of Hogwarts. Please just remember two things: We need to find a way to once again produce this strange connection between the time turner and the painting that brought you here in the first place. Furthermore, we should try and find a way back to the future for you.”


	5. II

 

 

_"Courage is being scared to death,_

_but saddling up anyway."_

 

**\- John Wayne.**


	6. II.1 - Lost in time

The last day before the start of the new term went by in the blink of an eye. After her long talk with Dumbledore, both had been busy. Together, they had paid a visit to Headmaster Dippet to register her as a new student. He had not asked any questions and furthermore did not object to her wanting to be a Slytherin. He had simply said that as she would be in Hogwarts for only her last year anyway, it did not really matter which House she belonged to.

After that, Hermione buried herself in the depth of the library, while Professor Dumbledore greeted the arriving colleagues and told them about his supposed niece. It had been a comment by Dippet that had driven Hermione back to the library: As she was a pureblooded witch, she would fit into Slytherin just as well as into any of the other Houses. Ever since her mind was racing.

Of course she was not an actual Pureblood, far from it. But as pretend daughter of Aberforth Dumbledore, she would at least be a Halfblood. She would like though to make her mother a witch, too, but there was the problem: What if every wizarding family was known in this day and age, so that any offspring of any witch would be known, too? Would she trap herself in an inextricable net of lies, if she mindlessly pretend to be a Pureblood? She just had to check what was actually known about the wizarding world at this time.

There were the Sacred Twenty-Eight, that much she knew, as it had not changed over the past centuries. Those were the twenty-eight families that were regarded as actually pureblooded, because they never had mixed with a muggle ever – or so they said. Apart from that, what information did people in the forties have about wizarding families?

Obviously, she herself did not care about having a muggle mother or a pureblood mother, but a tiny voice in her head told her, that now even more so than in her own time it would not be wise to be anything but a pureblood witch in the proud House of Slytherin. So she sat here, nervously scanning through history books, trying to find out as much about the magic society of this time as she could.

It was almost time for dinner, when Hermione finally concluded that there was indeed no complete account of every existing magical family in Britain for this time. Thus, she spend the remaining time to collect books she could read after dinner, books that would be at least equally important to her: conduct books. She was pretty sure that for her own time her behaviour was more than appropriate, but in the forties, even more so in the wizarding world, her conduct more than likely was far from acceptable. Sure, she would be able to excuse many of her strange behaviours with being American, but not everything was excusable and she wanted to blend in as much as possible.

Furthermore, reading would help distract her from the fact that she was stuck in the past while her friends were possibly dying in the future. Distract her from the fact that she would die in the course of the year. From the fact that tomorrow before the day was over, she would come face to face with one Tom Riddle. Would greet him, share a meal with him, go to school with him.

Tomorrow, she would meet the monster that had not yet revealed its true nature to the public.

* * *

 

After the last of the first year students was sorted into his House, Professor Dippet stepped in front of the hungry, waiting students and addressed them with another and very exciting news: “This year, we not only welcome our first years at Hogwarts. While you have all been safely at home, enjoying the summer, your favourite teacher, Professor Dumbledore, had to deal with tragic news regarding his family. The daughter of his brother has lately lost her mother and so she travelled from America back to her homeland to live with her father and uncle. From today onwards, Miss Hermione Dumbledore will be a seventh year member of the proud House of Slytherin. Please give her a warm welcome and be so kind to make her comfortable in her new home as possible.”

A low murmur started in the Great Hall, while the usual applause for new students was rather reluctant at the Slytherin table. Hermione had not counted on a warm welcome, anyway, but still she had to force herself to at least appear unconcerned. Slowly, she approached the table and decided to just sit down at the far end, where all the other older students were seated.

“Miss Dumbledore,” a more than handsome young man addressed her as soon as she sat down, “I welcome you in the name of all students of Slytherin. If you are in need of assistance of any kind, please feel free to come and talk to me at any time.”

Shocked, Hermione just stared at the young man. A little emblem just above his right chest made clear that he was the current head boy of Hogwarts. Of course, she knew very well that Voldemort had been head boy during his time at Hogwarts. He was a good-looking man, his full, dark hair, his perfectly angular face, his dark eyes that were shimmering blue all only served to make the ladies swoon, just like Harry had told her. The charming smile on his lips appeared natural and the way every other student was nodding indicated that this was the Dark Lord’s usual, expected behaviour. He actually was beloved and respected, not because he was feared, but because they students adored him, Hermione realised with horror.

“If I may take the liberty to introduce myself: I am Tom Riddle, the head boy of Hogwarts,” he finally added while standing up and reaching out over the table to shake her hand.

A tiny voice inside Hermione’s head screamed at her that she should accept his hand and reciprocate his polite gesture. Still, all she could do was stare at his hand as if it was a poisonous snake, disgusted by the idea of touching any part of this monster’s body.

A slight cough from her left brought Hermione back to reality. The whole table had turned its attention to her by now and if the questioning glances were any indication, she already had made a fool out of herself. Nobody understood her reluctance. Still in the clutches of horror and nauseation, but now also furious with herself, she finally shook his hand and whispered: “Hermione Gr… Dumbledore. Thank you for your kind words.”

Only for the fracture of a heartbeat she managed to look into his eyes, but she still caught the surprised expression on his face. More students now were introduced to her, but Hermione’s thoughts already wandered off. She wondered whether Tom Riddle had ever experienced before that any student, even more so any girl did not immediately follow up on his gestures.

Not really paying attention, she noticed that the two men next to her were called Lestrange and Malfoy. It really should not surprise her that in 1944 some members of the Sacred Twenty-Eight were attending Hogwarts, but she was still taken aback that it had to be these two of all families. The longer she sat there, observing the group surrounding Tom Riddle, the more she came to the conclusion that almost every single one of the students at this table would be a Death Eater in the future. The hope that she would be able to finish her seventh year here without any problems while simultaneously finding a way back to the future and doing whatever she was supposed to do to save the world suddenly appeared more than ridiculous.

* * *

 

This evening, Tom Riddle sat in front of the fireplace in the Slytherin common room, deep in thought about what had occurred before. He was surprised that there had been a new student for the seventh year, and for a short duration, he even had felt triumph. The fact that his niece was not a Gryffindor, but a Slytherin of all things would surely irritate Dumbledore – or so he had thought. But the witch was not as pleased with his polite welcome as he had hoped. Not only had she stared at his hand for the longest time as if it was a deadly snake. Even when she had finally accepted the hand shaking, a quick glance at her eyes had revealed unfathomable hatred.

What was the meaning of this hatred? Was it actually directed against him personally? If so – why? Before this day, she was not even aware of his existence, so why this animosity? Was it perhaps Dumbledore’s fault? Had that old man disclosed all his sinister prejudices against the otherwise beloved head boy? Tom really could not understand what the source of Dumbledore’s suspicions was, he was the immaculate student everyone looked up to after all. He had a clean slate, at least for the public eye.

Tomorrow, the new term would start. He would use this opportunity to get closer to this strange Hermione girl. People easily fell prey to direct questions if you caught them off guard. Perhaps she would even be susceptible to his manly charms.

* * *

 

A word to Abraxas was enough to get an empty chair next to himself, so the new member could sit there. Though History was a rather interesting class, Professor Binns managed to teach it in a way that even the smallest amount of attention was more than sufficient to follow his instructions. It would be the ideal opportunity to talk to Miss Dumbledore and so Tom had decided to confront her immediately. During their first class this morning, Potions, the girl had proven to be intelligent, to an amount indeed that Tom suspected she might be the first female student to ever get an invitation to Professor Slughorn’s select club. Which was even more reason to get to know her better.

Now, all he had to do was wait until the girl came to class and then offer her the seat next to him. He was sure that no girl would be able to resist his charms, even a suspiciously prejudiced one like Miss Dumbledore. It did not matter what her uncle might have told her beforehand, if he presented himself in the best possible light, she would fall for him sooner or later. Who knew, it might prove useful sometime in the future to have a close relative of Dumbledore as ally.

As soon as he spotted the brunette, wild hair from the corner of his eyes, he stood up and pulled back the chair. The new student slowly and hesitantly stepped forward, obviously unsure where to sit down. He smiled his most charming smile: “Miss Dumbledore, if you would do me the honour and sit right next to me, you would make me the happiest man in this classroom.”

He would have thought it amusing how the girl instantly froze on the spot as soon as he addressed her, but the shock and disgusted look in her eyes when she turned to him infuriated him. So far, he had done nothing wrong, and he started to doubt that anything Dumbledore could have said to her would prompt this rude behaviours. What was the source of this hatred?

“Do you really intend to deny this gracious offer? Deny Tom Riddle?” the voice of another female student sounded through the room. With the air of a lady attending a grandiose ball, a Slytherin girl with long black hair strode confidently towards the second row of chairs. Her tone betrayed that she found it as unbelievable as Tom himself that any girl would not jump at this opportunity.

“I don’t understand why I get special treatment,” Dumbledore’s niece finally replied, “Obviously, this young lady would prefer to sit in your company, Mr Riddle, so why don’t you ask … excuse me, I don’t think I got your name?”

“Beatrix Parkinson,” was the cold reply.

Intrigued, Tom noticed how Hermione arched one eyebrow, studying the other girl intently. He decided to try again, not accepting this flat out rejection: “Miss Dumbledore, I am the head boy of Hogwarts. I view it as my most important and welcome duty to be of any assistance, at least for the first few days of your new school life. Please, do not make me beg. Will you reconsider?”

He actually thought she would reject him again, but to his surprise, she slowly nodded and went to the chair he had offered. Together with her, he sat down again and waited until she finished taking out her books and writing tools. Then he approached her again: “Tell me, Miss Dumbledore, what is your impression of Hogwarts so far?”

It was obvious to him that the girl thought hard on this question and when she finally answered, he could feel that every word was carefully calculated: “The castle is stupendous. It almost feels like every single stone vibrates with magic. I wouldn’t be surprised to see the castle come alive someday if anyone was stupid enough to try and attack Hogwarts.”

She had been looking straight ahead to the blackboard while she answered, but with her last words, she turned to him and looked so challenging as if her words were a warning for him personally. The feeling that there was more to this new student that the eye could see, deepened. Still appearing calm, he replied: “Yes, these wall definitely have a life of their own. What about the classes? You were impressive during Potions, I have to admit. Furthermore, if I may take the liberty to say this, Professor Slughorn seemed more than happy with you.”

Again she took a strange amount of time before she answered and again it was different from what he had expected: “To be honest, Potions is one of my weaker studies. If Professor Slughorn expects me to be an interested student, he’ll be disappointed.”

Annoyed Tom realised that any answer Hermione Dumbledore gave was so well calculated, that she managed to appear polite and still stifle any attempt at furthering the conversation. If he did not want to end up in a very awkward interrogation like discussion, he had to admit defeat and stay quiet. It happened rarely that anyone denied him and even less often that it was done in such an artful manner.

He was almost grateful when his two friends, Abraxas Malfoy and Rufus Lestrange, appeared at that exact moment. Here was another possibility to get Dumbledore to talk.

“Oh, Miss Dumbledore, will you please allow me to introduce two of my closest friends,” he asked though he did not actually care for her response. He stood up and put a hand on Malfoy’s shoulder: “This man here is Abraxas Malfoy. You have been sitting next to him yesterday evening. If you ever happen to have any questions about old wizard families, he is your man.”

For the shortest amount of time, a hesitant flicker appeared in Hermione’s eyes, but just as Tom suspected she would again be rude, she actually rose and offered her hand: “There have been many names and faces yesterday, so I regrettably was not able to remember everyone. I am happy to get to know you now without so many other students interrupting.”

Abraxas smiled and shook her hand, but he did not reply. With deepening frustration, Tom turned to his other friend to introduce him: “This is Rufus Lestrange. He is the captain of our Quidditch team and the best duellist you’ll find in this castle. Be careful if you ever have to face him in Defence against the Dark Arts.”

The pleasing smile on Miss Dumbledore’s lips faltered. As soon as she registered Lestange’s name, she turned as white as a ghost, clutched her forearm with one hand and ran away.

“Abraxas, please tell me that you find the behaviour of our new student as strange as I do,” Tom hissed after Hermione had disappeared from the classroom. His before welcoming look turned calculating while he tried to figure out what was wrong with this girl.

“That she doesn’t like you is indeed something new.”


	7. II.2 - Lost in time

Breathing heavily, Hermione clung to the basin in the nearest girly lavatory. She could not believe how very stupid she was. When she had heard the name Lestrange, she instantly remembered Bellatrix Lestrange, even though she originally belonged to the house of Black. But Hermione not only remembered the face of the mad woman, but also a certain incident that took place in Malfoy Manor not too long ago. It would be bad if any of her new house comrades would spot the scar on her left arm that so clearly spelled mudblood. In this time, she was a pureblood and that scar would be very difficult to explain.

With shaking hands, Hermione grabbed her wand and tried to calm her thoughts. She cast a quick spell over her arm that would conceal the scar from any prying eyes.

Up to the moment where she hastily left the classroom she had done a good job, Hermione thought to herself. She actually managed to behave politely in the presence of Tom Riddle, even though everything inside of her screamed to just kill him with a well-directed jinx. Of course she knew that that was not the reason why her other self had sent her back to the past, but the urge was powerful. To keep it in check and even carry on an actual conversation was a great achievement in her book.

Quickly, she made her way back to the classroom. She arrived there at the same time as Professor Binns, curious to see whether this younger, still alive version of her own professor was as boring and tedious as the ghost. She felt the stares of the three gentleman she had just talked to, curious and wary at the same time, but she decided to just ignore them. She simply slipped back into her seat between Tom Riddle and Rufus Lestrange.

"Is everything alright, Miss Dumbledore?" Riddle quietly inquired just as she sat down.

With an internal sigh, Hermione replied: "Quite, thank you for your concern, there is no reason to be alarmed."

For a moment she struggled with herself, but then she turned to the man at her other side, speaking softly: "I am so very sorry for my rude behaviour. Please be assured that it had nothing to do with you that I had to leave so suddenly, Mr Lestrange."

She did not actually expect an answer, but Lestrange replied just as quietly: "I gladly accept your apology, Miss Dumbledore. I hope I do not intrude too far, but surely you understand that I have to inquire: why did you escape so suddenly?"

"I…" Hermione began, but she realized she had no idea what she should say in response. Desperately she tried to think of something, but any answer she came up with sounded like a lame excuse even to herself.

Suddenly, a cold hand found its way onto her knee when Tom Riddle leaned forward and hissed: "It is rude to put a lady under such distress, Lestrange. Perhaps there is a very personal reason for her disappearance. Do not make her embarrass both herself and you by forcing her to lie."

Shocked by the sudden physical contact with the future Dark Lord, Hermione snapped her back around to him without watching the response of Rufus Lestrange. She barely managed to hide her disgust when she insisted: "Mr Riddle, you are well over the line here. Please move your hand now."

He actually followed her request, but the look he gave her while doing so made Hermione think that every other girl in her position might have reacted very differently from her. She realized that Tom Riddle was not only dangerous because he would soon be the Dark Lord, but that he also had his way with women. She was not sure how long she would be able to stand any flirtatious advances by Voldemort himself.

* * *

 

Tired, Hermione closed her eyes. The day had been long. Even though she had not been forced to sit next to Riddle in any other lesson, she had felt his presence nonetheless. The fact that she had to watch her demeanour at all times, had to adhere to old-fashioned manners and simultaneously not appear too much the Gryffindor she actually was, had put a strain on her nerves. This day had clearly shown to her that as long as she was trapped in 1944, she would never be able to be herself. That she was already so worn out by the façade worried her.

That was the reason why she was currently sitting in the library all alone. This was the only place in the castle where she felt remotely at home and at the same time would not rouse the suspicions of her fellow Slytherins. Furthermore, just like in her own time, the library was almost empty after dinner. So she was now sitting alone in a comfortable cushion chair, enjoying a random book she chose from the shelves.

"All alone?"

The deep voice made Hermione startle. Even though she had not really focused on the book in her lap, her mind had been very far from the reality around her, so she had not noticed somebody creeping up on her. Slowly she looked up, finding Abraxas Malfoy of all people standing before her. She sighed with relief that it was not Tom Riddle. What was more, her last interaction with a Malfoy had proven to her that not every Malfoy had to be a mindless follower of the Dark Lord. She still was immensely grateful to Draco that he had not told his aunt that it was in fact Harry Potter who had been captured and brought to Malfoy Manor. Even though his family had already been in trouble for his father's missteps, Draco did not jump at the chance to redeem himself and his father in ratting them out. It was a gesture of courage and empathy she had not expected from him. Now, in front of her, stood his grandfather, who seemed as proud as any Malfoy, but at the same time honourable and with an openly friendly smile.

"Obviously" Hermione replied, while giving him a small smile to indicate his intrusion was not altogether unwelcome.

"Are you reading something important just now or may I take the freedom to invite you to a cup of tea?" Abraxas asked with perfect chivalry.

Uncertain what to make of this offer, Hermione's eyes darted across the room. Had Riddle sent his friend to lure her in? But as soon as that idea popped into her head, she chided herself for it. Nobody here could suspect her of anything, yet, not even Riddle. It was her call whether she brought negative attention to herself or to just behave normally as any young woman would do in her situation.

She forced another smile and rose from her seat. After putting the book back in its place, she calmly answered: "I only read to take my mind off some troubling thoughts. It had no educational purpose, if I am being honest."

Abraxas offered his arm and it took Hermione a second to realise that she was supposed to link hers with it. With a slight pink shadow on her cheeks, she accepted the gesture and let Malfoy lead her down to the dungeons.

"I hope your first day here at Hogwarts did not prove too distressing?" Abraxas initiated a polite conversation.

Hermione replied equally polite: "No more and no less that what I was expecting. I actually enjoy studying, so school never is too hard for me."

"Oh, you have that in common with our dear Tom, then. I don't think I have ever met another human being so intent on learning something new every chance he gets."

Nor sure what to reply to that and unwilling to associate herself with Voldemort, Hermione changed the direction of their conversation: "What about you? Don't you enjoy studying?"

The deep laughter that was the response of Abraxas surprised Hermione. It sounded so different from Draco's often spiteful laughter.

"I would not be a true Slytherin if I did not have at least some thirst of knowledge. But contrary to Tom, I am only interested in a few select subjects, not all of them."

They continued talking about their favourite subjects and talents until they reached the Slytherin common room. There, Abraxas showed Hermione through a door she was not aware of existed. When he opened it, another smaller room presented itself to Hermione, vacant at the moment but full of books. Hesitantly she entered, only to discover an arrangement of two elegant looking armchairs and a couch together with a tiny coffee table. At the right side there was a big window opening to the depth of the Great Lake.

"I had no idea this room existed!" She exclaimed.

"This is the common room exclusively used by seventh year students" Abraxas explained smiling: "You will find any textbook used in our year over there and, thanks to many generations of generous families, we also have some rather helpful reference books and other works. Furthermore, and that is the actual reason for us being here, you are able to summon house elves to serve tea in here."

With another forced smile Hermione sat down on one of the arm chairs, while Abraxas summoned a house elf.

"What kind of tea shall we have?" Abraxas asked with a gentle smile.

"How about an Earl Grey?" Hermione suggested, unsure what would be the proper tea etiquette during this time.

While she observed Abraxas ordering the tea, Hermione wondered about the whole situation she just found herself in. Here she was, probably separated from the future Dark Lord only through some stonewalls, having polite conversations with one of those men who would possibly be among the first to follow him – or already did? – trapped in a time without much hope to ever return, meaning her death was imminent, and she just calmly ordered tea. She felt the sudden urge to talk to Dumbledore, just to get rid of this very strange emotion that had built up during the day. Sadly, her professor had already told her on Sunday that he would not have time during the first week of school, regardless of how tricky her situation might get.

"Miss Dumbledore?"

Startled, Hermione looked up. Obviously her companion had asked her something that she had totally missed during her dark thoughts. With an apologetic smile she told him: "You have to excuse my negligence, my mind was wandering off. What did you say?"

"You have no reason to apologize" Abraxas told her perfectly polite: "I am sure you have a lot of things on your mind at the moment that would prevent you from conversing happily with a stranger. Though, if I am being honest, that was the reason I approached you in the first place. You seemed in need of encouragement."

"Encouragement?"

"You have to excuse my frankness, but I noticed you looked down all day. I have no idea what Tom or Rufus might think about your behaviour this morning, but to me it seemed as though you were overwhelmed by the situation. I got the feeling you needed help – or at least someone that listens to you. I might not be head boy, but I am always there for new students and all of their sorrows. So, if there is anything I can do for you, please do not hesitate to tell me."

Hermione struggled to not stare with wide eyes. Those words were the last thing she expected any Slytherin to say, no less a Malfoy. On the other hand, she remembered the Sorting Hat telling them that Slytherin way the house where you could find real friends.

She looked him right into the eyes, saying as honestly and firmly as she could: "I appreciate your concern, I really do. I means the world to me that I have someone around me who actually cares for his fellow wizards and witches. I cannot talk about my past, it is just impossible. But if you would be so kind to just sit with me for a moment, that alone would make me feel more welcome here."

She way happy to see that Abraxas openly hold her gaze. She would never have thought that this young man of all people, someone so close to Tom Riddle, would turn out to be so open and honest. She did not yet know what Abraxas thought about Voldemort or whether Tom Riddle was even known as such by now. Perhaps Harry would be able to answer that question, but she was sadly ignorant. She could only guess and for her own safety, it was best to assume the worst. So even with this charming boy she would have to be careful. Still, his affectionate manner warmed her heart.

By now the house elf had served tea, including a little can of milk and a sugar jar. After putting the tray on the coffee table, the elf disappeared with a loud pop. Just as expected Abraxas took it on himself to fill both cups. Not taking any milk or sugar in her tea, Hermione simply grabbed her cup, blew into it and took a first, warming sip. The hot fluid ran down her throat, filling her with a warmth she had missed ever since arriving here. There was nothing like tea to fix any problems and dark thoughts.

"I fear you are able to read my mind" Hermione jested: "This tea is exactly what I needed. How could you possibly know?"

Abraxas just chuckled: "Of course I cannot read your mind. It was a guess. Whenever I feel down, I drink a cup of tea. It was worth a try."

Happily Hermione sipped on her tea. Perhaps tonight she would be able to find some sleep. Perhaps, if tomorrow would be less tiring than today, she could try searching for the reason why she was here. She still had no idea whether she had to do something or find an item or perhaps some sort of spell. Whatever it was she had to do here, sitting around waiting would not help. Her first step would be to look up time travel in the library. She would have to wait until the evening though, because she could not risk anyone notice her research.

"Miss Dumbledore."

Again, the deep voice of Abraxas Malfoy interrupted her thoughts. She looked at him expectantly, noticing in confusion that he had turned slightly red.

"I would really like if you allowed me to call you by your given name."

Smiling, she put her cup back on the table: "But of course. It would be an honour. I am Hermione."

Abraxas smiled back at her while taking her hand: "I am Abraxas."

Curious, Hermione added: "I assume I am the only one addressing everyone with their last name, anyway?"

He shook his head: "Oh, no! Do not underestimate the importance of politeness and correct manners around here. Only those that are friends call each other with their first names."

"Are we friends, then?"

It was obvious that Abraxas had not anticipated her direct question, but even though his cheeks again turned slightly red, he replied calmly: "I suppose not. But I am sure that as soon as we get to know each other better, we will be friends."

She nodded with a smile, though she could not help but inwardly laugh about the whole affair: friends with a death eater. Again, she gave herself a mental slap. He was not yet a real death eater, if that name even existed already. All of the boys here at school were still innocent, eighteen, nineteen years old at most. For them the whole question of blood status and muggles was not much more than a game. None of these students were cruel monsters yet. Except for Tom Riddle.

When finally she was too tired to think straight anymore, Hermione politely said good night and made her way to the girl's hallway. She had been happy to find that seventh year students of Slytherin shared double bedrooms and as there were already six girls in her year, she had one room all to herself. Perhaps she would someday be able to feel at home in that little room.

She was near the end of the hallway from where a door on the left side led to the boy's and on the right to the girl's bedroom hallway, when a dark haired man stepped through the door and blocked her way. Frozen to the spot Hermione stopped walking and stared into the face of Tom Riddle.

He did not look friendly.


	8. II.3 - Lost in time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey lovely readers! I'll try to publish a new chapter every monday from now on. As always, I'm no native speaker so please point out any mistakes I made with this text! Happy reading and thank you all for commenting and reading <3

Riddle greeted Hermione with a short nod: “Miss Dumbledore. It is rather late, isn’t it?”

“I just had a cup of tea before going to bed. Abraxas has been so helpful in showing me the little study for seventh year students” Hermione explained. A small part of her that obviously had a death wish made her add: “Actually, I would have expected the head boy to show me something so essential.”

The second those words left her mouth, Hermione wanted to slap herself. It was not in her best interest to get noticed by Tom or make an enemy of the future Dark Lord. Still, that same small part that had made her say those words now demanded she slapped him or humiliated him, even if only verbally.

“Your hostility towards me is baffling. You do not yet know me and still you insist on not liking me. Did I do something to you without realising?” Riddle drawled.

Angrily, she clenched her fists: “Has it never occurred to you that sometimes one simply does not like another? Some people just don’t go well together, that’s normal. So you avoid each other. Is that so hard?”

Riddle’s face was dark when he stepped closer. Involuntarily, Hermione stepped back, only to find herself backed up against the wall. She was alone with him, it was late enough that no other student would happen to come by this corridor. Even if someone was to be still up, this was the corridor leading to the girl’s dormitory. Any female student that would notice them surely would swoon over Tom Riddle and not offer her help or even think that she needed it. Nervously, she felt for her wand hidden in the long skirt.

Riddle’s voice was cold when he hissed: “I am not used to such impertinence, Miss Dumbledore. I will not tolerate it. Perhaps politeness doesn’t mean anything in America, but inside this school, I demand you behave accordingly.”

Hermione struggled to answer, grasping her wand harder: “I wasn’t aware that I was rude. I simply stated that I don’t like you and wish to not be in your company. Wouldn’t that be in your interest, too? Why would you seek the company of a witch that doesn’t like you?”

“That’s enough!” Riddle snarled while pressing her back against the wall with his forearm. Before he could say anything though, Hermione had her wand pressed against his throat. Surprise flickered through his eyes, but then he stepped back and eyed her disparagingly.

Finally he admitted: “You are quick with your wand, Miss Dumbledore, quicker than I thought possible for a woman. But with that, you have finally crossed the line. No student is to threaten another with magic in this castle. I will not report you, though. Instead, you now have the chance to apologise and perhaps realise that I in fact do not deserve your hatred. If you present yourself like this again, though, I will report you as a threat for the student body directly to headmaster Dippet.”

Hermione trembled with anger. She did not know whether she hated herself for her stupid action or him, but she realised it would be wise to admit defeat for the moment. It took all her composure to say: “I apologise. It was not right to use my wand against you. Still. You yourself have crossed a line when you threatened physical violence. I demand an apology for that.”

The blank impression on Tom Riddle’s face made Hermione think that he would disregard her words. To her immense surprise though, a confident smirk suddenly appeared on his lips: “For sure, that was not very chivalrous. Please forgive me. There is something about you that makes me lose my temper. Under normal circumstances, I would be the last man to show disrespect towards a woman. If you’re well behaved from now on, I will treat you with the utmost chivalry.”

For a long moment he stared directly into her eyes. Then he bowed and turned to leave. Hermione’s heart was beating furiously while she watched him go. She didn’t want his attention, on the contrary, she had hoped to go unnoticed by him until she knew why she was here. As angry as she was with herself, she was even more confused by the future Dark Lord. She would have never pictured him to be able to go from threatening and scary to nice and flirtatious in a matter of seconds. It made her sick to imagine that maybe she would see more of the flirting Lord Voldemort over the next weeks.

She really wanted to go home.

* * *

 

Deep in thought, Hermione studied her class schedule the next Tuesday morning. She actually wanted to take all the NEWT classes she would have taken back in her own time, but Professor Dumbeldore had advised against it. She simply would not have the time to do it. So she had dropped Divination and Muggle studies altogether, while not taking Alchemy, Astronomy and Care of Magical Creatures as NEWT classes. Her schedule still looked more like that of a Ravenclaw compared to the other student’s schedules.

Her first class of the day would be Defence against Dark Arts. She was terrified just thinking about being in the same room as Tom Riddle while studying Dark Arts. Furthermore, she remembered Harry telling her that the current professor for Dark Arts, Galatea Merrythought, retired early after Riddle’s last year – and that it perhaps had something to do with the opening of the Chamber of Secrets in his fifth year. Did the woman know something? Had Riddle done something to her?

“That are a lot of classes” Abraxas greeted her with a friendly smile before indicating a bow and sitting down next to her. Hermione thought she felt a questioning stare coming from Tom Riddle who sat at the other side of the table, but as Abraxas didn’t seem to notice, she decided to ignore it.

Instead she answered playfully: “I was under the impression that you already noticed that I was the most curious person on earth?”

His laughter sounded warm in her ears: “Indeed. But honestly, Hermione, I don’t believe that anyone other than Tom took eight NEWT classes. Are you sure you can handle that?”

“Implying that I am inferior to him?”

“Are you implying you’re not?” Riddle interrupted their conversation.

Scowling, Hermione turned her attention from Abraxas to Riddle: “Perhaps.”

Abraxas seemed to notice the tension between his best friend and herself, because he instantly told her: “No one is as good as Tom, Hermione. There is no shame in losing to him.”

That sentence made Hermione cringe. It would only be the doom of the whole world if no one actually was able to win against him. She tried not to show her emotions when she replied: “As I said: perhaps. We only just finished one day of school, that is hardly enough to make a judgement already. Also, whether I feel it would be shameful to lose to anybody is still my own call.”

Riddle’s face was tense: “Did you already forget our conversation last night, Miss Dumbledore?”

Ignoring the worried look on Abraxas’ face, she replied: “No, what gave you that idea?”

“Do not play dumb with me. What did I say about being well-behaved yesterday?” Riddle hissed across the table low enough that most of the curiously listening students around them were not able to follow their conversation.

Truthfully Hermione recalled: “You told me you would treat me with respect if I started to be well-behaved. I never said that I would do that, though.”

Before Riddle had the time to answer that, Hermione stood up, grabbed her bag and left the Great Hall. She was just out of the door when Abraxas caught up to her.

“I was not sure yesterday, but your conversation just now – Hermione, do you not like Tom?” Abraxas asked her in a startling moment of directness, his face still showing worry.

Unapologetic Hermione said: “Obviously. I cannot tell you what it is, but there is something about him that makes me angry.”

She could hardly tell him that Tom Riddle was the future mass murderer Lord Voldemort, so she tried to stay as close to the truth as possible without saying anything at all.

“You don’t even know him. I don’t think it is right to judge somebody according to your first impression” Abraxas retorted.

“Any other time I would agree with you, Abraxas, but Riddle … you know, after our tea session yesterday, he came after me. He violently pressed me against a wall and threatened me. Only when I pulled out my wand did he leave me alone. Are you really expecting me to play nice after that show of manners? Or lack thereof?” Hermione hotly replied.

“He did that?” Abraxas breathed.

Hermione only raised an eyebrow to that. She knew for a fact that Riddle had already committed murder by now. Had he not yet shown his dark side to his friends? Or was Abraxas just singularly naïve?

After a short pause her companion told her: “I know that Tom sometimes can be scary. He really is a powerful wizard. He is able to do things even grown wizards cannot do. But I have never witnessed him attacking a Slytherin student without cause. Much less a woman.”

Hermione took a deep breath. This was her chance, her one single chance perhaps to sow doubt in the mind of Riddle’s best friend, but she also feared she might go too far. She just didn’t know enough about Riddle and his followers during Hogwarts. Hesitantly she said: “Perhaps that’s only because so far no one has opposed him? He told me I was impertinent. Perhaps he just doesn’t like people that don’t follow his wishes? Perhaps he isn’t good at dealing with opposition?”

During her last sentence, Hermione had looked directly into the eyes of Abraxas. She was not surprised when he avoided her glance and sheepishly admitted: “There has been no opposition as of yet, that’s true. But why would there? He is intelligent and he is head boy. He is good at intercepting fights and helping others. He never turns anybody down who needs help with homework. The teachers like him, but instead of using that for his own advantage, he uses it to help everyone else. Every single Slytherin student can be absolutely sure that Tom will always come to their aid.”

Slowly Hermione nodded. Harry had told her that Riddle was good in charming teachers and students alike with his good looks, his charisma and his intelligence. It was hard witnessing it with her own eyes.

“It perhaps was not the best idea to show my hostility so openly, was it? I would make many enemies in Slytherin if I continued that way, wouldn’t I?”

“You can be sure of that. The girls perhaps would be happy that you are not a new rival. You have no idea how very popular Tom is with the witches. One polite smile and the girl thinks he’s courting her. But say one mean word against him and you’ll have a whole army of fanatic followers against you” Abraxas mused.

The words fanatic followers made Hermione cringe again, but she supposed it was only a manner of speaking to emphasise how extreme the girls’ crush was. Still she couldn’t deny herself a last remark: “So you are friends with such a ladies’ man? Don’t you get jealous that he poaches your girl?”

Abraxas looked a bit flustered: “Poach? That’s a rather crude word, dear Hermione. But to answer your question: No. Tom is not a ladies’ man. If I think about it, I cannot recall a single instance where he was courting a girl. Perhaps he simply is not interested in courting women. Perhaps he is waiting for the One. Perhaps he takes school too seriously. Whatever the case, the girl that Tom someday decides to court will stand no chance against his charms.”

Shaking her head, Hermione opened the door the Dark Arts classroom. She went for a spot in the first row, ignoring Abraxas. Even if she did not know what Tom Riddle would become in the future, she would not have fallen for him so blindly like this blond Slytherin and most of the other students and teachers. Hermione was sure that in her own time, people followed Lord Voldemort only out of fear. Of course there were some lost souls like Bellatrix Lestrange, but most of his former loyal followers like the Malfoys seemed to follow him not because of actual loyalty, but because they had no other option. The Tom Riddle she got to know in this time, though, was charming and persuasive in a way that made it clear that most future death eaters would follow him out of conviction and faith.

She smiled at Abraxas when he sat down next to her. This young blond man didn’t strike her as a bad person. If only she knew what her other self had done in this time. Obviously she had not changed the timeline as Hermione knew it. This boy would sooner or later be one of the first death eaters, would support the ideals of the Dark Lord and help him during the first wizarding war. She wished that there was a way to stop Abraxas, to prevent him from selling his soul to the devil. Even though she did not technically know him yet, she instinctively felt that he was an honourable man that could be her friend if the circumstances were different.

She needed to find out why she was here. The time turner and everything else could wait. First she had to save the future.


	9. II.4 - Lost in time

 

Nervously Hermione observed the other students. No one seemed surprised that Professor Merrythought had magically moved all tables and chairs back to the walls, nor did anyone look frightened by the duelling stage she created in the middle of the classroom. She eyed Abraxas enquiringly.

“She’s always done this since fifth year. This is a test so she can evaluate the strength of all students,” Abraxas explained to her, “because she wants to pair us for the rest of the first semester. I guess we’ll end up with the same partners like last year, depending on whether our strength is still the same.”

“But what about me?” Hermione asked quietly. She shuddered just thinking about showing her duelling strength to anyone, let alone Tom Riddle. She knew all too well that with her experience from war and Harry’s lessons during the Dumbledore’s Army times, she was way more skilled than any seventh year student should be. She did not like the thought of arousing Riddle’s interest once more.

“I actually do not know. We’ll have to wait,” Abraxas whispered in reply just as Professor Merrythought entered the stage.

“Dear students, you all know by now what’s next,” she started her speech, “As is tradition by now, please stand next to your partners from last year. You will once again have to show your skill in another duel. If you are still at the same level as your partner, you will continue in the same pairs as last year.”

From the corner of her eyes Hermione noticed that Tom Riddle raised his hand. After a short nod by the professor, he said: “Professor, I have been working with Abraxas and Rufus for the past year, because we then had an odd number of students. Through the addition of Miss Dumbledore, that has changed. I would like to personally give her the opportunity to show her strength, and would happily oblige to be her partner if she is skilled enough.”

Hermione turned ghostly white upon hearing those words. The look Riddle gave her told a clear story: He had not liked her stubborn behaviour during breakfast and wanted to use this opportunity to show that she was indeed inferior to him. Surely he would not dare to use dark magic against her?

Thoughtfully, Professor Merrythought tipped a finger against her lower lip: “You raise a good point there, Mr Riddle, thank you for reminding me. Though I am not sure about you being Miss Dumbledore’s duelling partner. Your group has been the strongest last year.”

“Oh, I think it totally reasonable,” Tom immediately replied, “Miss Dumbledore has proven herself to be quite the formidable witch in all her other classes, I am sure she will not fail altogether.”

With obvious doubt the professor looked at Hermione, but as she did not want to delay the class any longer, she finally nodded. Hermione started to shake. She had no idea how strong Voldemort had been during his time at Hogwarts – only that he surely was more powerful than anyone else, of that she was sure. Should she show her potential? If Voldemort noticed that she was better than expected, would he take an even greater interest in her? Perhaps she should avoid that and pretend to be a weak witch.

But as soon as Hermione was thinking about that idea, she already felt that it would be impossible. Her own pride forbid that she would pretend to be weaker or know less than she actually did. She was ambitious at any moment. It was against her nature to pretend otherwise. A fierce smile appeared on her lips. Perhaps today was the day all of them got surprised. Perhaps Tom Riddle was not yet actually powerful. She knew she would never be able to beat Voldemort, but this man, this boy was only seventeen years old. She was eighteen, she had fought in a war. She knew what it meant to fight for survival, while everyone else here only fought for good grades and show.

“Hermione?”

The low whisper of Abraxas brought her back to reality: “Yes?”

His face showed obvious worry: “Is everything alright? When Tom suggested his idea just now, you turned white as a wall, but now you are smiling in a way that makes my blood run cold.”

She gave him a warm smile: “I have to thank you for your concern, but really, I am fine. I just decided that I will not let Tom Riddle’s arrogant words from today morning slide. He is not taking me seriously, so I will show him that he better should.”

Doubt showed in Abraxas’ face, but he stayed silent. One look at his friend and he knew that Tom was looking forward to this duel just as much as Hermione did. Abraxas did not accept this lightly, but when he had duelled with Tom during their fifth year, he had lost miserably. He spent all year to catch up, only to discover that his best friend had an even easier time beating him the next testing duel around. He doubted that any student could compete with Tom, let alone a girl. Of course he did not think Hermione to be weak or stupid, but it was just a fact that girls were not as resilient and tough as boys – which was the only thing that mattered in a duel.

Meanwhile, Hermione watched as pair after pair went up on stage and duelled. At first she had been interested in watching, but quickly she realised that these children indeed were far inferior to her. If not for the fact that Voldemort was around during her own time at Hogwarts, she would not have been better than any of these students, of that Hermione was very aware. It had been a matter of life and death for Harry, Ron, and herself to be good at fighting. Watching these students duel, she could feel that they thought about every spell, always tried to look elegant or cool while casting, trying to mimic some posture or another they might have seen grown wizards do.

When it was finally her turn, Hermione was almost vibrating with nervous energy. Now she would face the future Dark Lord, would get to know his strengths and weaknesses, would discover whether or not she was able to beat him. A small voice in the back of her head accused her to have a death wish, but the far greater part of her was screaming in triumph to show this conceited boy that she, a girl, a mudblood even, though unknown to the rest, was better than usual.

Again Professor Merrythought explained the rules, again she lifted her hand to indicate the witch and wizard should take a duelling stance, then she made her wand spray sprinkles and the fight was on. Without hesitating Hermione cast a Tarantallegra against her opponent. Obviously Tom had not expected her to be so quick, because he had no time to react and the charm hit him with full force. Hermione watched on while he struggled to perform a counter-spell to stop his feet from performing ridiculous dance moves. When he finally managed to break free, his look was murderous.

“I have yet again underestimated the quickness of your wand, Miss Dumbledore,” he hissed, “it will not happen a third time.”

As soon as those words left his mouth, he cast a non-verbal spell in her direction. Hermione had no time to analyse it, so she just threw up a simple shield charm and blocked it. If he wanted to show off non-verbal spells, she would happily oblige. Pressing her lips firmly together, she cast a Stupor and immediately afterwards another Tarantallegra. It made her smile darkly when she noticed the shocked whisper by the other students who were obviously surprised that she was able to cast non-verbals at all. Standing with a wide stance, not caring whether she was elegant or feminine at all, holding her left arm up for balance, she cast spell after spell without moving too much. Tom was standing almost still himself safe for his never stopping wand hand. A glorious feeling began to spread in Hermione when she realised that he got more and more annoyed with her.

Their movements picked up in pace and slowly Hermione felt that she was getting to her limits. She had long lost track of what he actually threw at her, fearing there might be something truly dangerous in the mix, so she forced herself to match his pace. Sweat formed on her forehead, but Hermione ignored it. She already did not look ladylike, why should she bother now? Everything in her screamed to destroy the boy in front of her.

Suddenly a hot pain shot through her left eye and before Hermione realised that she had not been hit by a curse, but that her own sweat had dropped into her eye, she already had closed both eyes in reflex. The next thing she noticed was the familiar feeling of the first duelling spell she had ever learnt: A powerful Everte Statum hit her directly into the chest, pulling her from her feet and throwing her down from the stage.

With a groan Hermione opened her eyes again, only to see Tom Riddle standing directly above her, grinning maliciously: “You’re no match for me, Miss Dumbledore. For your own sake you do well to remember that from now on.”

He had whispered those words low enough for the other students to not hear them. Before she could give a sharp reply, he held out his hand to help her up.

“I am so very sorry to have hurt you just now, Miss Dumbledore,” Tom cried with the most innocent voice, “I just had not expected you to not block my spell like you have the ones before.”

Shaking with anger, Hermione pulled her arm out of his grip. She swallowed the nasty insult that had formed on her tongue, instead just nodded and turned to Abraxas.

“That was magnificent, Mr Riddle, Miss Dumbledore,” Professor Merrythought beamed, “Really, what a fine duel! I have never witnessed such skill and power in Hogwarts in my entire life! Ten points to Slytherin. You really were right, Mr Riddle, our new student seems to have outstanding talent in duelling. You two will be such a pair to work together this year!”

Shivering, Hermione accepted the arm her blond friend offered her. She had not succeeded in defeating Riddle. Even now she was no match for him. To make matters worse, she was forced to spend even more time with him thanks to the duel. She barely registered that Abraxas was considerate enough to pick up her bag when they left the classroom together.

That Tom Riddle gazed at her with cool, calculating eyes went unnoticed by both of them.

* * *

 

The news about Tom Riddle being hit by a Dancing Feet Spell travelled fast enough for every Slytherin student to have heard about it until lunch time. So, when Hermione sat down with Abraxas and Rufus Lestrange, many of the younger students came over to enquire further details.

“Is it true you have forced Tom Riddle to dance?” A sixth year student with black hair that reminded Hermione of Harrys godfather asked.

“He did not block my Tarantallegra, that is correct,” she replied.

The eyes of the boys around her turned big with respect, but Abraxas immediately interrupted the boy: “It’s rude to speak to a lady without introducing yourself first, Orion!”

The boy turned red and nodded: “Yes, you are right. I am sorry, Miss Dumbledore. My name is Orion Black.”

Hermione gave him a small smile while studying him more closely. It was hard to imagine that this shy young boy would someday disown his son, just because that son did not share their views on purebloods. That he also would be the uncle of Bellatrix Lestrange was even more astounding, because she could detect not a single hint of madness in his eyes. Chuckling Hermione wondered what Orion would think of her if he knew she was a mudblood.

“In the end she lost anyway,” Riddle now tuned into the conversation after sitting down across from her.

Within seconds the younger students made place and returned to the far end of the table, so that the Head Boy and his friends could eat undisturbed. Snorting Hermione noticed the amount of respect the younger students had for the elder students. She wondered whether this was a Slytherin thing or whether during this time even in Gryffindor seniority mattered that much.

Out of nowhere, Beatrix Parkinson, who sat next to Tom, turned to her: “For now you have been outstanding in every class, Muss Dumbledore. What do you think about the classes this afternoon, Transfiguration and Charms?”

Despite her pride, Hermione felt her cheeks heat up: “To be honest, Transfiguration is my favourite class, or perhaps Ancient Runes or Arithmancy. I’d like to think it’s my best, too. I do like Charms, though.”

Abraxas started to laugh: “Dear Merlin, Hermione. If what we witnessed before was not you at your best, I’m actually starting to fear you.”

Another blond boy that Hermione had spotted during classes before, though she had not yet talked to him, shot her a strange look while saying: “Indeed. I’m Avery, by the way, I don’t think we’ve been introduced before. I’ve got to admit it’s already hard enough to accept our dear Tom is so gifted, but hearing about a woman showing us all up is something else.”

Goosebumps travelled down Hermione’s spine. She remembered clearly that one Avery had been part of the group of Death Eaters that she had fought against in the Ministry back during her fifth year. This would be his father, she assumed, and he left just as bad a taste as his son. He had received a big compliment by Professor Slughorn the other day, so she was certain Avery was part of the Slug Club, too. Every student she got to know seemed to be a future Death Eater. Every new acquaintance reminded her of the fact that she was surrounded by enemies.

Suddenly she noticed that everyone was expecting a reply from her. Hastily she swallowed that lump down her throat: “School started only yesterday, you should not jump to conclusions like that. Perhaps I got lucky, because I already learned the things that you are taught now. I for one don’t think I’m as good as you all make me out to be.”

Tom raised an eyebrow and scoffed: “Such modesty, Miss Dumbledore? How very Hufflepuff of you. Are you sure you were sorted correctly?”

Hermione hid her shaking hands in her skirt. Riddle was right, she did not act like a Slytherin at all. How could she, when she was a Gryffindor at heart? She really had to be careful not to raise any more suspicions especially because her fellow Slytherins were not happy that she was a relative of Professor Dumbledore.

With as much condescension as she could muster, Hermione retorted: “I would like to remind you of your own words, Mr Riddle. Try not to make the same mistake thrice and underestimate me again.”

Silence spread through the students while they all stared at the new witch in shock. Only the student that had been the recipient of those words looked more annoyed than shocked. Trying to give off an air of nonchalance, Hermione took her fork to eat her salad. Determined to ignore the tension, she resolved to never grovel before Tom Riddle.


	10. II.5 - Lost in time

For a second time in just a week, Tom Riddle found himself in a thoughtful mood this evening. He had retired early to his room, which he had all to himself thanks to being head boy. He wanted time and peace to reflect on the events of the day. His initial surprise at the strange behaviour of their newest student had by now turned into hot anger. She provoked him at every turn, always behaving as if he was the instigator. She denied him in a way no one had dared before, at least not since the time he had revealed himself as Slytherin’s heir to his best friends. Ever since he had opened the Chamber two years ago to prove himself to them, those few offsprings of the Sacred 28 had defended his honour and demanded respect for him from every single student. By now he was an established leader that no Slytherin would dare to defy.

Until Hermione Dumbledore. She came out of nowhere, treated him with hatred and contempt, and to make matters worse was a singularly talented witch. When he had asked Professor Merrythought to let him duel her, it was with the intent to put her into place. Of course in the end she had lost, she had to admit that she was not his equal, but still. She had been close enough, closer than anyone should be, let alone a woman. No one was as powerful, as disciplined, as thirsty for knowledge as he. Yet she seemed to be almost there. If her concentration during class and her overly full schedule were any indication, she at least was as curious as he.

He could not actually explain the hate he felt towards her. Ever since he had left behind the orphanage, he had not felt this hot anger and hatred. Back then he had been ridiculed, he was the misfit, the scum, even though in reality he was so much more than them. Tom had always understood that the contempt the other children and even the adults held for him was born out of jealousy. They despised him even though they were supposed to respect and worship him. It had made him so angry. He had hated every single one of them. When he first came to Hogwarts, that changed. Here he was one of many, everyone respected each other for their power. The more powerful you were, the more respect you got. And he was the most powerful of all. But not Hermione Dumbledore. She looked at him just like everyone back at the orphanage: with a mixture of contempt, hatred and fear.

Fear.

Thoughtfully Tom rubbed his chin. If he actually thought about it, he was certain that more often than not she looked at him with fear. She pretended to be strong and hostile, sometimes even dismissive and arrogant, but if he had to name one predominant feeling, it was always fear.

Fear was good. He could work with fear.

* * *

 

Annoyed by herself, Hermione quickened her steps. There was no reason to be afraid. Astronomy class had always been set during the nights, even if it was a bit awkward that it was now scheduled on Wednesdays. She had climbed the tower countless times during her time, had wandered dark hallways and never felt fear. Why should she be scared now? There was no reason.

Shaking, she stopped. Of course there was a reason, she knew it very well. The cold glances Tom Riddle had cast in her direction, his complete silence towards her, his icy smile as he left the platform of the Astronomy tower as second last just before herself – all of that was a very good reason to be afraid of being alone in the dark. That she had a long way down back to the girl’s dormitories in the dungeons did not help, either.

“Scared, Miss Dumbledore?”

Shocked, Hermione backed up one step of the stairs. From around the corner, hidden by the shadows, appeared Tom Riddle, only a Lumos casting some light upon his face. The icy smile that had worried Hermione before was still there.

“You wish!” Hermione retorted, but even to herself her voice sounded shaky. Carefully she felt for her wand inside her bag, but quicker than she thought possible, Riddle had grabbed her wrist and pulled her arm away.

“There will be no need for your wand. Didn’t I make myself clear that I will not tolerate any further attempt on magical violence against students?” Riddle asked while grabbing her other arm, too. Panicked, Hermione tried to move backwards, but there was only the wall.

“Pray, tell, Miss Dumbledore, whatever did I do to deserve your hatred? Please do not try to evade my question this time with silly talk about not everyone liking each other. You hate me and there is no reason for it.”

The conversational way Tom said those things only deepened Hermione’s fear. She was alone, helpless against his stronger body, unable to grab her wand, unable to get away from his firm grip. Here, on the stairs of the Astronomy tower, where every student and the teacher have long left, no one would hear her scream.

Sounding chipper, he continued: “You provoke me every time. Ridicule me in front of my friends, say things that are almost insulting, and whenever I answer with a hint of unfriendliness, you act as if I was a criminal. Don’t you think it is understandable that sooner or later a man will get angry about such behaviour?”

Trembling stared up into the dark eyes of Tom Riddle. She could see his hate, but there was something more this time. Something that told her that he knew she stood no chance against him. That something really, really scared her.

“You’re a monster, Riddle!” Hermione exclaimed.

“Who gave you the right to address me informally?” Riddle hissed, bringing his face nearer to hers while pressing her arms against the cold stone wall.

“You think about politeness and correct manners in a situation like this?” She spit, but her desperate attempt to get the upper hand was doomed from the beginning.

He took both her wrists in one hand before grapping her throat with the other. Panic flooded Hermione: “What are you doing?”

“Scared yet?”

Breathing heavily, Hermione stared into his pale face. His hand on her throat was loose enough to let her breathe just barely, but her system needed more oxygen. His smile had been replaced by now by the look he had hidden beneath it from the very beginning: hatred and contempt. If he had been a predator, he would have smelt her fear by now. She was sweating profusely even though she was shivering in the cold. She knew what he wanted. She knew he wanted to see her beg, see her throw herself at his feet. She should give him what he wanted, otherwise he would kill her sooner or later.

“Riddle,” Hermione whispered, not wanting to give in. She was not ready to lower her head, to admit defeat. Trying to breathe, she searched his eyes for any sign of sympathy, but all she found was contempt.

“Yes,” She finally groaned when his fingers dug deeper into the skin of her throat. Pain shot through her, his fingernails scraping her neck, and a choked scream escaped her lips.

“You know, Hermione,” Riddle murmured directly into her ear, emphasising the use of her given name, “when I see you like this, trembling, your mouth hanging open, eyes big and fearful, I cannot help myself. You arouse unknown desires deep inside of me.”

Before Hermione had time to understand his words, she felt his tongue on her neck where his fingernails had left bloody scratches. He licked the wounds, pressing his full body against her. Horrified, Hermione tried again to push him away, but he instead only pressed further into her.

“You disgusting pig!” Hermione whined: “Let go of me!”

“If you promise right here, right now that you’ll be a good girl in the future, I’ll let you go,” Tom whispered after releasing her throat.

She burst into tears of anger and fear, unable to stop the desperate sobs. She did not want to be here, she wanted to be back in the future, at Harry’s side, fighting against this very man, against his future self, destroy him for good.

“You really try to seduce me now, mh, Hermione?” Riddle purred with a sweet voice, smiling icily again: “Your tears are just so … arousing.”

With that he finally released her. Sobbing Hermione fell down, wrapping her arms around herself, shaking in anger and fear and cold. She did not have to look up to know that Tom’s gaze was simultaneously triumphant and sneering. Only when she felt his fist in her hair and her head was pulled back forcefully, she looked into his eyes.

“Take this as a final warning. Next time I won’t be as friendly!” Tom hissed hatefully.

Then, at last, he left her alone for good. He turned and after a few seconds the darkness of the stairs had swallowed him. Still sobbing and scared, Hermione stayed where she was for several minutes before she could muster the courage and get up. She was thankful for the fact that on Thursdays, she had no classes during the first block in the morning.

* * *

 

Aroused, Tom lay upon his bed and stared up at the ceiling. The day had taken a good turn in the end, because his plan to finally force Hermione Dumbledore into submission had succeeded spectacularly. He could still feel the thrill and joy that had swept his body when he discovered the pure terror in her eyes. Her tears, her trembling body, her moans, all about her weak body left a sweet taste in his mouth. He was stronger. He was powerful. Anyone who dared to defy him would learn true terror.

Fear. Fear was such a wonderful thing.

Never before in his life had he felt so alive, so aroused as in this moment. Even back when he had let the Basilisk loose in the castle, he had taken pleasure in the fear of his fellow students. But that fear had been diffuse, nobody actually knew what or whom to fear. Hermione’s fear, though, had him as direct source. He was the reason. Before he could stop himself, a dark laughter erupted from deep within him.

Carelessly, without really noticing it, his right hand found its way into his pants. Grabbed his hard length, stroking it thoughtlessly. Again pictures of Hermione drowned in tears floated through his mind. The power to make her cry aroused him. She was a clever, strong witch, but in the end she cowered in fear. The movements of his hand quickened while a memory of the taste of her blood came back. Her scared pants, her desperate groans, her pained screams.

Rushed, he opened his trousers with his other hand, freeing his member from its prison. Another image, this time made up by his imagination, appeared: Hermione, still sobbing, as he forced his dick between her lips, sinking deep into her wet, hot mouth, how she screamed in pain, grasping desperately for air, while he mercilessly took his pleasure.

His hand sped up again, rubbing his member more forcefully until he came with a loud groan. Disgusted he looked at the wet, sticky stain on his sheets before he vanished it with a flick of his wand.

He cursed.

He was aware of his carnal cravings, he knew that every human being had these needs. But as of yet no human had aroused him so much that he had actually masturbated to their images. The arousal Hermione had triggered was something else, almost violent in the way it took over his body. Her fear, her weakness had been beautiful to watch.

Shaking his head, he ordered himself to never think about another human being in such a way again. He did not need images of actual people to meet his body’s needs. Carnal lust was for the weak. He could not wait to leave this phase of puberty where his body sometimes ruled over his brain. He could not wait until his brain had full control over every aspect of the body and never gave into lust again.

* * *

 

Slowly, Hermione crossed through the Great Hall to sit at the Slytherin table. She had taken her time this morning, hoping that Tom Riddle would not be present if she appeared late for breakfast, but luck was not on her side. He sat there, happily chatting with his friends, conversing politely with other students and being altogether the perfect image of a head boy. When his gaze fell upon her, his lips curled into an arrogant smile that only deepened when she tried to avoid his eyes.

“Oh, Miss Dumbledore, you’re late this morning!” Riddle greeted her cheerfully, but Hermione could clearly hear the taunting undertone.

“I’m free for the first block,” She explained defensively before sitting down at the only remaining spot, between Abraxas and Beatrix Parkinson.

“Are you okay?” Abraxas asked her quietly.

She sighed. Obviously, her sleep deprived night was visible in her face. Trying to be as quiet as she could, even though she knew Riddle would still know what they were talking about, she answered: “I did not have the best night, indeed. I am very grateful for your concern, but please understand that I don’t wish to talk about it any further.”

“I hope you had a good night’s rest? No nightmares?”

Turning pale, Hermione looked at the man sitting across the table. Tom Riddle really enjoyed his little victory over her. He had shown his true colours, had proven that even as a student he could be as scary as Lord Voldemort – and he obviously took pleasure in her pain. She knew she should not let him stomp over her like that. She had to prevent him from toying with her. It would not do if she lacked sleep from now on just because she was afraid of him. She had to find a way to reverse what happened yesterday evening. She could not allow any further victories on his part. Only she did not know how to do that.

Her fear of him was just too real.


	11. II.6 - Lost in time

 

Hermione quickly followed after Beatrix Parkinson. The first few days had left her with the impression that this particular classmate did not like her, but after breakfast this morning, Parkinson had offered to accompany her down to the greenhouses so she would not get lost on the grounds. Hermione had thankfully accepted the offer, because she realized in that moment that it would seem strange if she was able to find the way on her own. Still she could not shake the uneasy feeling that Parkinson was not as altruistic as the pretended.

“How do you like it so far here at Hogwarts?” Beatrix inquired while they left the castle.

Silently, Hermione wondered how often she would have to answer that question over and over again. She was aware that people only asked to start a conversation or to learn more about her past. As friendly as possible she replied: “Very well. The teachers are all competent, I really get the feeling that I learn something new. I like that.”

Parkinson gave a light laugh, but Hermione was sure it was only a pretend laugh. Happily Beatrix said: “You really are an outstanding person! Who would actually react to a question like that with praise for the teachers?”

Irritated, Hermione glanced at the taller girl: “But the teachers are the ones making or breaking a good school. If the teachers are useless, so is the school.”

“I have no interest in what you think about our school. Hogwarts is a good school, that’s common knowledge,” Parkinson chided her: “I obviously was interested in your opinion about out classmates.”

Hermione struggled not to stare in surprise. She had not expected to hear such a direct question from a Slytherin, let alone any student during this time. Suddenly though, she realized the actual purpose of this conversation and why Beatrix Parkinson had invited her to go to Herbology together in the first place. She did not know whether to laugh or cry, so she vaguely explained: “Oh, for now everyone is every accommodating. I have nothing to complain about.”

“I’m happy you’re feeling that way, Miss Dumbledore,” Parkinson nodded, but Hermione could tell she meant the opposite. Did this dumb girl actually think that a new rival for the Tom Riddle’s favour had appeared? Did anyone honestly think she was interested in him? She shook inwardly.

“Indeed, Abraxas is very helpful in making my feel comfortable,” Hermione replied with utmost friendliness. She did not want anyone to see any connection between herself and Riddle, especially not a scandalmonger like this girl appeared to be.

“Our very own head body seems to be extraordinarily invested in your well-being, too, doesn’t he?” Beatrix added in a deliberate way that made Hermione sure that Tom Riddle had been the topic of this conversation from the start.

How could anyone get the impression that there was anything but hatred between them? Warily, Hermione glanced at Beatrix – what was she supposed to say to that? She really did not want to risk that any insult would reach Riddle’s ears. Then again, she had no interest in praising him or worse, appear scared of him. She again tried an indifferent answer: “Tom Riddle does his best to fulfil his duties as head boy. He makes certain that every student follows the rules, that’s something not everyone would do so meticulously.”

A derisive snort from the girl beside her indicated to Hermione that she did not believe a single word she had just said. In the end, it really did not matter. Whatever was the reason that she was here in the first place surely did not require her to make friends with anyone. She just had to find a weakness in Voldemort. Human relationships were not necessary for that mission. If the other students just left her alone, that would be fine. She had friends in the future that loved her just the way she was.

When they finally arrived at the greenhouses, Hermione noticed with surprise that there were only two of those and a third building stood a little bit away from it, that was clearly not intended for plants. As Beatrix Parkinson went straight for that small wooden hut, Hermione assumed that during this time the theoretical part of Herbology was taught outside the greenhouses.

As it turned out, the wooden building contained a simple classroom just like the ones back in the castle. Quizzically, Hermione turned to her classmate: “Do we always study here? Or do we actually visit the greenhouses?”

“The first class of the year always takes place here, but after that, Professor Beery gives us a schedule for when we have our class in which greenhouse,” Parkinson explained.

Hermione nodded slowly while taking the books out of her bag. During her time they had not often used any Herbology books, so she was looking forward to a bit more theoretical lesson. The chance to learn more about the theory of magical plants was appealing, even if she had to study a lot harder to catch up.

Suddenly, Parkinson grabbed the schedule out of Hermione’s bad: “May I see this for a moment? I happened to hear that you took many N.E.W.T. classes and I’m just interested how full your schedule is compared to mine.”

Mistrustfully Hermione eyed the other Slytherin, but she could not find any real reason why it would be a bad thing if the girl knew which classes she took, so she just shrugged and sat down.

The focused look on Parkinson’s face turned into a sneer when she gave the paper back to Hermione: “You have the exact same N.E.W.T. classes as Tom. Not only the same amount, but actually the same classes. And just like him, you didn’t take neither Muggle Studies nor Divination.”

“Oh, really?” An interested voice came from behind the two girls.

Beatrix immediately turned around to the good-looking boy, but Hermione stubbornly stared straight ahead while slipping the schedule back into her bag. She would not talk to Tom Riddle until she figured out how to correct the lopsided power balance between them.

“One could think you’re stalking me,” Riddle said laughing, but when he slipped into the seat next to hers, he whispered so quietly that no one else could hear him: “We’re a little masochist, aren’t we, Hermione?”

Looking for support, Hermione turned to spot Abraxas, but to her horror she discovered that he obviously did not take Herbology as an N.E.W.T. level class. Other than herself, there were only eight Slytherins present, the six girls, Riddle, and Avery. All of them had shown over the last couple of days that they were no particular fans of her. Nervously Hermione put her hands into her lap, before whispering just as quietly: “Leave me alone!”

His cold laugh made her shiver, but she would not allow her to show that fear to him ever again.

* * *

 

“Miss Dumbledore, why so hasty?”

Cursing, Hermione looked back. Tom Riddle quickly came towards her until he caught up and took her arm. She would have preferred to free her arm and run for the hills, but her pride forbid it. She had deliberately packed her bag just as class was over and left the room as quickly as possible, leaving the group of students behind her, just to escape the danger of another talk with Tom Riddle. Obviously though, he had other plans.

In a light, conversationally tone he said: “You have surprised me again, I have to admit. Though you obviously only know the basics of Herbology theory, you are astoundingly knowledgeable in wand crafting. Which, if you think about it, is as theoretical as you can get with Herbology. Where does your knowledge come from?”

With gritted teeth, Hermione quickened her pace. She should have known that showing off her knowledge in that area would be a mistake. Of course she had only a basic understanding, but as the topic for the first couple of weeks was ingredients of wands, she was not completely in the dark. She had experience in this area out of pure necessity: After all, even though she would never admit that to Harry or Ron, she had tried to learn anything she could about the Elder Wand. Which included the theory of wand crafting. If her stupid brain had not convinced her that she now had a chance to make a good impression on her teacher and get good grades that might counter any lack of knowledge later on, she would have been more careful to disclose any such knowledge. Now, the damage was done and Tom Riddle once again intrigued.

Suddenly, Riddles second hand came down on her arm with a hard grip. Shocked, Hermione looked up and straight into those dark, almost black eyes that again watched her full of contempt: “I don’t appreciate people not answering to me. Did you not learn that it’s better for your health to not provoke me?”

“Just because you win a battle doesn’t mean you win the war!” Hermione hissed angrily, only then realising how fitting those words were for the future. She would never let Voldemort win the war, regardless of how many battles he might win. She took a deep breathe while she reminded herself that she was here to ensure victory in the future.

“Powerful words from such a petite woman,” Riddle replied and if it were not impossible, Hermione would have sworn he sounded amused. Shivering, she pulled her cloak closer around herself. Being close to this monster made her go insane.

* * *

 

With a blank expression Tom Riddle studied his classmates this evening. Most of the younger students were already in bed, but everyone from his year were still up as well as some from fifth and sixth year, who sat in front of the fire and chatted quietly. The only one missing was Hermione Dumbledore, who obviously preferred the isolation of her room over any company. Even Abraxas had not succeeded in making her stay any longer than necessary.

Determined he put any thoughts of the bushy haired new student aside. He had more important things to do. It was his last year now and he could feel time slipping away. He needed to find followers, build a network. He had big plans that needed loyal minions who shared his vision, shared his goals, helped him, and supported him. One day he would be the first wizard to achieve immortality, he would live for all eternity as emperor over a world full of mortal wizards. Perhaps some select muggles would be allowed to be slaves for him and his most loyal followers.

But it would be a long way to that. He still was a nobody in the magical world, just as he was a nobody in the world of muggles. Only at Hogwarts his name carried weight, but in the outside world that was not the case. He had no money, no influential parents – and worst of all, he was no pureblood. It would take a while until every single witch and wizard accepted the fact that he was indeed Slytherin’s Heir, until they paid him the due respect he deserved. Until then he needed men who supported him with their money, name, and reputation.

Of course he had Malfoy and Avery and Lestrange and whatever all their names were. All of them respected him, even though at least Malfoy and Lestrange knew he was not a pureblood. They had witnessed him opening the Chamber. Witnessed him force his will onto the basilisk. He knew only too well that ever since that day, there was a bit of fear mixed in with their respect for him and that their friendship was no longer as open as before. If he had been a normal man, that perhaps would have bothered him, but he was Lord Voldemort. Lord Voldemort had no friends, he had followers, minions, servants, underlings. Fear made people submissive and that was all the more true for followers.

Sadly, they were not yet aware of the fact that they had to serve him. He had to change that. He needed to let them in on his plans, needed to assemble a small group of trustworthy men that shared his ideology and vision. If they were already burning for his ideals, for his bright future, then he would show them that he was the Lord, the Leader, the one they had to obey. Any respect and fellowship they showed now was merely the play of children that would follow the biggest bully on the playground. He needed more. True fealty, loyalty. Or, which was more probable and easier to manage, fear.

The problem was, he had to be careful. Other than Professor Dumbledore, who had kept an eye on him from day one, now he also had to deal with his niece who just would not succumb to his charms the usual way. Even though he by now was sure that she was not a deliberately placed spy for her uncle – she would have gone and told Dumbledore all about what had happened before if that was the case – he still could now allow himself to let his guard down. He only knew her for a few days, but he already figured that she was more intelligent than was good for him. If he told the wrong people about his plans, she might notice something. She surely would not share his goals, even if only because they were his goals.

He turned to the blond boy sitting next to him: “Abraxas, I’d like to do something again with a few select people, you know, like two years ago, if you catch my meaning.”

Tom almost grinned when his friend turned visibly pale. Of course Abraxas immediately understood what he meant, but was clever enough not to voice his fears out loud. Instead, he replied as quietly: “Who do you have in mind?”

“Avery and Lestrange for a start, if you don’t have any further suggestions for people that are trustworthy and can keep their mouths shut.”

“I think you shouldn’t underestimate Peter, he thinks very similar to you.”

Tom raised his eyebrows: “Nott? I never got the feeling he cared much about other people.”

“You don’t, too, Tom,” Abraxas calmly retorted, “but you can be certain that he’ll never tell anyone about anything that you tell him in secret, even if he doesn’t like what he’s hearing.”

Thoughtfully, Tom rubbed his chinned while shooting a calculating glance at the tall boy sitting across the common room. Peter Nott was one of the best students in their year, but quiet and withdrawn, so he was hard to figure out. On the other hand, Tom shared the notion that Nott would tell on him. If he actually joined them, he would be a valuable addition. He nodded to himself.

It was too bad that Miss Dumbledore was the way she was. He would love to use a sharp understanding as hers. Even though she was a woman, she had proven her magic to be powerful. It really was a shame that she did not like him.


	12. II.7 - Lost in time

Hermione sat on her spot, her back rigid, looking straight at the book, holding her quill in one hand while the other was clenched into a fist under the desk. She had already read the chapter about Unforgivable Curses several times, but she was thankful for the opportunity it provided to avoid talking to Tom Riddle. In her own time, they did those curses during her fourth year. She clearly remembered being uncomfortable that they did those so early, but then again, it was Moody – or better: Crouch jr. – who taught them. Back in 1944, they obviously preferred to study it when most students were already of age, a decision Hermione whole-heartedly supported. Still, she would have liked to not have the future Lord Voldemort sit next to her while studying the Avada Kedavra. Or the Cruciatus. Or the Imperius.

At least it was Friday, last day of the school week. First thing tomorrow she would go to Professor Dumbledore to report everything that had happened so far, and to discuss plans for the next months. The two days of weekend provided an excellent excuse to steer clear of Riddle. She would survive this last day of the school week without murdering him – or be murdered herself – and then everything would be okay.

“Are you finished, Miss Dumbledore?” Tom suddenly asked. Obviously he had already read the chapter, too, as Hermione was sure that he had already murdered at this point. Now he was waiting impatiently for her to finish.

Of course she knew the contents well enough, but she still was not in the mood to strike a friendly conversation with Tom, so she just replied: “No.”

“You’ve never heard of these curses before?” Tom dug deeper, forcing her to put away her quill and look up to him.

She really did not want to talk about Unforgivables with him, so she took a deep breath before finding the motivation to answer: “That really is an unnecessary question, of course I’ve heard of it. Everyone has.”

“So why are you reading with such interest?”

Annoyed, she sighed: “It’s one thing to know a curse and a totally different one to understand how it works, where it came from, what it can do. The intricacies. In theory the death curse might be simple, you say the word and the opponent is dead. The reality is different, though. It’s the same with the Cruciatus. You can’t just point your wand, speak the words, and hope the other one is suffering pain. Sadly, it doesn’t work that way. Or,” Hermione added with a dark glance, “I should say: luckily. So, would you please let me finish reading?”

“We’re supposed to work as partners on this chapter. We need to pick one curse that we want to study further – together. I have no patience for waiting an hour until you’re finished reading. I could as well tell you the contents of the chapter while we decide on a curse.”

She really did not need a demonstration of the death curse or the Curciatus from Tom Riddle. She had heard enough of how he used it on enemies and allies alike. Regarding the Imperius, she wondered whether he already was planning to take over the ministry using it.

She finally relented: “Fine, as you wish. At my school, we did these curses in fourth year already, anyway.”

His cold hand came down on her as he leaned closer: “You can use these curses?”

Shocked, Hermione yanked her arm back: “Don’t touch me, Riddle! And no, of course I can’t! We’ve studied them, our professor showed them to us, but obviously, none of us have actually used them. It’s forbidden to use them. That’s why they’re called Unforgivable!”

“Yes, of course,” Tom smiled while leaning back again. Then, a perfidious smile on his lips, he added: “Are you afraid I’d use one of those on you?”

Hermione’s heart nearly missed a beat. Did he actually threaten her just now or was this just a game? Trembling, she rubbed her sweaty hands against her skirt: “You shouldn’t joke about those things!”

“Who says I’m joking?”

With bated breath, Hermione stared at the young man next to her. Tom Riddle was so attractive, so intelligent, so courteous, the smile that graced his lips just now would make any girl swoon. Hermione though saw right through that mask, saw the madman he was, who was only motivated by hatred and anger, who wanted nothing more than to prove himself and would never show any compassion for any human being. There he sat, both elbows on the desk, head inclined to her, smiling as if she was God’s angel on earth. Casually talking about using an Unforgivable on her. She swallowed.

“What’s the matter with you?” Riddle suddenly hissed, his smile gone, replaced by a hard look in his eyes: “Why do you look at me as if you feared I’d actually do that? Do you think I’d do it?”

Hermione’s breath quickened up. Of course he had been joking, of course he was not serious. Everyone knew that Unforgivable were not to be taken lightly. Even a cold-hearted boy like Tom Riddle would not do something that crazy. That she even for a second had doubted him was only because she knew his future self, Lord Voldemort, would murder a baby without blinking.

Panicked, she turned to Professor Merrythough, raising her hand to excuse herself. She needed to get out of here.

Quickly she ran out of the classroom, passing the questioning faces of her classmates, out into the cool, deserted hallway. Only when she closed the door behind her she stopped and leaned back against the stone wall. She was not supposed to treat Tom Riddle as Voldemort. Even now she got his attentions with her behaviour, but if she showed him openly that she was able to see the cold-blooded monster he was, he surely would grow suspicious.

The low rustling of robes made her look up in alarm. Riddle had followed her out.

“One would think you just met the devil the way you marched out of the classroom,” he said casually, though there was flaming hatred in his eyes: “So, tell me, Hermione, what is all of this supposed to mean?”

Nervously she glanced at the classroom door. They would hear her scream, surely? He would not be mad enough to do something to her out in the open, right? She had to get herself together. He still was Tom Riddle, not Lord Voldemort. She should not show him that she knew about Voldemort.

Desperately she tried to think of a lie she could tell him, so he would be satisfied at least for a moment. The simplest thing would be the most believable, she finally decided. She took a deep breath, then she let her shoulders slump, her eyes cast down, and replied: “My parents were murdered with Unforgivables. A madman killed my father with an Avada Kedavra before torturing my mother with a Cruciatus until she went mad. I had to watch.”

For the longest time, Tom did not answer. Cautiously, Hermione looked up into his eyes. She could not read the expression in them, but at least her movement broke his frozen stare.

“You know me too well already to believe me if I told you I was sorry, don’t you?” Tom whispered. Hermione snorted unbelieving, but Riddle just shook his head: “Don’t worry, I won’t. I have no pity for you and I didn’t plan on pretending otherwise. Others would have believed me, but not you. Not you.”

Just as Hermione was about to congratulate him on his discovery, he rammed his hands against the wall next to her face. A not very pleasant memory of a similar position she found herself in just a few evenings back crept up her neck.

“Perhaps I can buy that Unforgivable Curses are a sensitive topic for you,” Tom told her, “but that does not explain why you would think me capable of using those against you or anyone else.”

Scared, Hermione looked into the dark eyes of Tom Riddle. He bought her story, but he did not accept it as apology for her behaviour. Not that she could blame him. He would not know how very scary this whole situation was for her, being trapped by his arms, how much discipline she needed to not just break down crying. The memory of how much he had enjoyed her fear, had enjoyed showing off his power over her, was still fresh on her mind. Thinking of power, an idea came to her mind.

Thoughts flooded her mind, making her head spin. For a moment she was rendered speechless, having to close her eyes to collect her thoughts. Then she took all her courage, looked him directly in the eyes and stated: “You would do it, Riddle. You love power. You love torturing others, bathing in their fear – just as you did with me. I am also sure your willpower is strong enough to cast an Unforgivable, too. You love your power over the fears of other people so much, it would give you the strength to cast those curses.”

She noticed how his mouth fell open while she was talking, saw his surprise, real, undisguised surprise, the first emotion apart from anger and hatred that he actually showed her. Which was why she knew that she hit the nail on the head. Lord Voldemort was not simply a cruel monster that strived for world dominance. He was a man who loved power, who enjoyed feeling the fear of other people. She had experienced that first hand, but this discovery actually made it all less scary. He did not torture out of a cool, calculating rationale, but out of passion. Repulsive as this thought might be that anyone was able to enjoy the suffering of another human being, it was relieving that behind Lord Voldemort’s behaviour there were actually emotions and not just a cold mind.

Carefree because of her new discovery, Hermione let the jab that her mind had just formed against Riddle, slip: “Does that arouse you? Are you turned on by seeing others cry?”

She whispered those words, smiling in the cruellest way possible, but even though she had wanted to provoke him, the intensity of his reaction took her by surprise. With a swift movement he turned her around and shoved her chest first into the wall. His whole body pressed her up against the cold stone while his hand grabbed her hair and his left arm rendered her immobilized.

“Brave words you got there. If I, as you just proclaimed, really enjoyed torturing others, do you actually think it’s a good idea to provoke me?” Tom hissed against her ear. Against her will a shiver ran down her spine. Even though her mind had just scored against Riddle, her body still trembled in fear at the memory of what he had already done to her. A low laugh came from him when Tom noticed her fear: “You see, you’re scared of me. You’ll always be scared regardless of how brave and tough you act.”

She was able to feel his hot breath on her cheek, could sense how fast his heart was beating in his chest, how it moved up and down with each breath. The normally so calm head body seemed extremely agitated – by her, a girl be barely knew. It was obvious that he did not know how to deal with opposition, that it made him furious if he was rejected for no apparent reason or even looked down upon him.

“Fear can be a wise guidance because it can prevent us from doing dumb things,” Hermione replied as calmly as possible. She was sure that Tom too knew that any scream of hers would alert the professor in the classroom, so he had no real power over her, regardless of how scared she was.

“Fear is only for weaklings!” Riddle answered intensely, but he finally let her go.

Hermione straightened her school uniform as casually as she could while she turned back to him. For a short moment they regarded each other silently, but Hermione could see that Tom had nothing more to say. She returned back to the classroom, the future Dark Lord directly behind her.

“Everyone fears something, even you, Riddle,” she told him before opening the door and going back to her seat.

* * *

 

Annoyed, Tom went up and down in his room. What had occurred during Defence against Dark Arts had made him so agitated that he could not concentrate for the rest of the school day. Hermione Dumbledore was a problem in every aspect. Her closeness to the hated Professor Dumbledore was problematic. Her active mind was problematic. That she thought, no, knew he was able to and would actually cast Unforgivable Curses was problematic. Worst of all though was the fact that after just one week she knew him better than all those who claimed to be his friends for years now. She did not even give him a chance to establish his friendly façade, but had suspected from the very beginning that he was up to no good.

He was successful to pressure her into a corner and make her scared, but in the end it was always she who had the last laugh and got to know more about him. He grew angrier by the minute. Until today he had not taken her seriously, had just seen her as another toy, a feisty one perhaps, but nothing more. That had changed now. He had been too negligent. With a huff he sank backwards onto his bed. She already knew too much.

It was clear where that would lead to. If Hermione Dumbledore continued to act in the way she did and if he continued to react so uncontrolled and reckless around her, he would need to make her shut up sooner rather than later – using some method or another.


	13. II.8 - Lost in time

Carefully, Hermione smoothed down her skirt while she waited in front of the office. This whole week she had waited to at last speak with Professor Dumbledore again.

“Oh, my lovely niece!” Dumbledore exclaimed happily the moment he opened his door. With an inviting gesture he walked her to the chair opposite of his desk, then he sat down himself. “So, how was your week, Miss Granger? Have you settled down in Slytherin yet?”

Thoughtfully Hermione looked down on her hands. She needed someone with whom she could talk about Riddle, someone to confide her fears to. How much damage would she cause if she told Professor Dumbledore that she knew she was here for Tom Riddle? She decided to treat carefully.

“Abraxas Malfoy has been most obliging,” she explained slowly, “thanks to him I found at least one friend. The problem lies somewhere else entirely.”

Dumbledore nodded as if he knew what she was talking about. Still tentatively she continued: “I would really like to tell you everything, but you and I both know that is not possible. Still. Right at the beginning of this all, I asked what would happen if I killed the person that I was here for,” Hermione said, but as she saw how Dumbledore’s face fell immediately upon hearing it again, she quickly continued: “I won’t suggest that again, do not worry. I just thought … I’ve said it, I can’t take it back. I’m sure you gathered from it that I am here for someone, a person. So … I’d like to know who you think that is, sir.”

Dumbledore’s face showed a smile after hearing that, but his arms were still crossed before his chest and he looked thoughtful. Finally he answered: “How much do you know about me, Miss Granger?”

Hermione blushed as she whispered: “I guess I do know a lot. At least about what you did.”

Chuckling, Dumbledore stroked his beard: “No need to be shy, my dear. It’s expected that a person from the future would know a lot. And if you know a lot about me, that only means that I am going to do many things in my future that are worth remembering, which is a nice thought, don’t you think? But,” he continued more seriously while bending forward, “my question aimed at something very specific. I suspect you know about Grindelwald?”

Shocked, Hermione stared at him. Of course, the wizard that Dumbledore would defeat in a famous duel still haunted England during these days. Furthermore, if the stories were true, Dumbledore had been involved with him and once shared his ideologies. She nodded slowly.

“My first thought was that you are here for him,” Dumbledore explained. There was a sad tone in his voice and suddenly Hermione wondered whether her professor still thought fondly of the dark wizard. Mute, but alert she looked at him, while he continued: “But I dismissed that idea. The fact that you attended Hogwarts when your other self did the time travel suggested that you are here for someone in this castle.”

She nodded in confirmation, still unsure though whether it really was okay to say anything about Riddle to Dumbledore. It would not change too much, would it, as he already kept track of Riddle’s movements? Nervously she clung to her chair.

“I trust all my colleagues,” Dumbledore continued to think out loud, his gaze now turned to the window, his hand stroking his beard absent-mindedly, “and most of them would be too old to wrack havoc over fifty years from now, anyway. It’s hard for a teacher to think anything but well of his students, but exactly because they are young people, they all can change so much. Another indication of course would be that you naturally belong in Gryffindor, but have been in Slytherin during your time travel. That hints at the one person being from that house. Which means …”

There, he stopped. By now Hermione was trembling nervously. She was sure that Dumbledore drew the correct conclusions from what she had told him. Would it be right for her to confirm his suspicions? Or would she do too much damage with that? Before she could think any longer about it, Dumbledore turned back to her and looked directly and seriously at her: “The student that I suspect is someone I’ve been watching for a long time now. From the very start, to be honest. There is something about him that worries me. Sadly, it never changed in all his time here. Even if you never showed up in this time, I still would have kept at least one eye on him. As I understand perfectly well that I am not allowed to interfere, I will continue doing only that: watching. That being said, Miss Granger,” Dumbledore concluded his thoughts, “tell me. Are you here for Tom Riddle?”

“Yes.”

She was only able to whisper this word, but it was all Dumbledore needed. Silence filled the room while Hermione tried to battle her fears. Professor Dumbledore was far more intelligent than her, if it was wrong for him to have this information, he surely would not have asked for it. At least that was what she hoped, as she knew from her own time that Dumbledore had this other side, this side that strived for knowledge and sometimes went too far for it. Still, for the moment she felt relieved to at last be able to talk about Riddle with somebody.

“Did he do something to you?” Dumbledore asked, concern visible in his usually twinkling eyes.

“Not really. He grabbed me forcefully several times and spewed threats, but he wasn’t actually violent or anything. Which of course can always change …”

Dumbledore’s eyes suddenly looked unhappy and his tone was stern when he interrupted her: “Miss Granger, you are aware that you are here for him, but instead of staying quiet and go unnoticed, you provoke him? Do you think it’s good if he notices you and starts to get interested?”

Hurt, Hermione clenched her fists. Again she had to think of Harry, who sometimes was frustrated that Dumbledore did not understand him, expected too much, had no sympathy for human failures. Here she was, fearing for her life, because she did not know whether she would ever be able to return to the future, and because the chance that Tom Riddle wanted to actually murder her grew from day to day – and that was all Dumbledore wanted to say to her?

“It was never my intention, sir,” Hermione defended herself, “but what do you expect from me? I know what he’ll do in my future. He’s a monster, I can’t see him any differently. For him, just the fact that I didn’t fall for his charm was enough to be suspicious of me.”

“I am the last person to defend Tom, but still I implore you to differentiate between Tom now and his future self. Whatever he has done in your future, he has not done it yet. He’s a confused young man and he might be dangerous, but he’s not yet a monster.”

“But of course he is! He’s already ...,” Hermione cried enraged, but she stopped immediately. If Dumbledore was not aware of the murders Riddle had already committed or that he was responsible for the Chamber of Secrets, she had no right to tell him. Again she noticed the curious sparkle in his eyes, as well as the disappointment when she stopped. She could not even resent him for it: There was knowledge about future events right in front of him, but he knew he could not have it. For a wise, powerful wizard like Dumbledore that had to be frustrating.

“Please do not think I don’t understand you!” Dumbledore said at last, sighing deeply: “I know I sometimes push too far when I pursue my goals. I tend to ignore the most natural human emotions and judge people for their mistakes. But please be awake: You other self finished her school year here. She not only survived until the end of the term, she even had time to be the best girl of her year. What you did, in other words, was to avoid getting murdered by Tom. You and me both know he’s capable of committing murder, and in your own interest and keeping your mission in mind, I advise you to at least try to be more cautious.”

A dry laugh escaped Hermione: “I certainly don’t plan to provoke him until he murders me.”

She waited for a long time before she found the right words to express her confused feelings and fears: “I’m just so overwhelmed. I know the future, not just for Riddle, but for many other students here. I know what they will become, I know who’ll have children and what those do. Especially the children of the Slytherin students made my life difficult in Hogwarts. But even so, I can’t help myself, I like some of them. How can I like someone whose children or grandchildren are so awful? I never felt so lonely. I can’t be open to anyone, not even you. And worst of all, we both don’t know at this very moment whether I’ll ever go back to my time. I could die a year from now. It’s so scary. I thought I knew what fear is, but the way I feel now is completely different. I just don’t feel like playing diligent little school girl–”

Hermione burst into tears, a loud sob stopped her words. Just one week was behind her and she already felt exhausted and unable, to spend even a single other day near Tom Riddle. Distraught, she buried her face in her hands.

“Miss Granger,” Dumbledore said softly after she sobbed for several minutes: “Please don’t despair. You’re not alone. Even though you cannot tell me everything, I still am here for you. Perhaps I was too hasty after all. For too long I’ve felt this strange, dangerous aura from Tom. Then you show up, confirming my suspicions. For a moment all I could see was that there was a real chance to defeat him, if not during my time, then at least in the future. I did not think about your situation like I should have. I didn’t mean to pressure you that way.”

Thankful, Hermione took the handkerchief that Dumbledore gave her to wipe her tears. Yes, she felt desperate, she was overwhelmed and she was scared, that was true, but she refused to let those feelings rule her. While she wiped her tears and tried to smooth her school uniform, she focussed her thoughts and took a deep breath. This was a mission. She had chased after Horcruxes for the last past year, she broke into Gringotts, survived the Bellatrix Lestrange’s torture and never gave up. She could not change that she was in the past now, so she should just accept it and concentrate on why she was here. She was not lost in time, she was at the right place, at the right time to save the future.

Determined she looked right at Dumbledore: “I guess I need more time to get used to this time and to understand that for the next months, this is actually my home. But nevertheless, I will do everything to save the future.”

“I’m happy to hear that,” he answered with a slight smile: “And if you ever struggle with your fears or just need a friendly face from time to time to not feel lost here, you’re always welcome to my office.”

Hermione mirrored the smile and for the first time since her arrival she felt like talking to the professor she knew from her own time: the wise, mild, empathetic Dumbledore. He gave her time to adjust herself, to really let her new found determination sink in, then he continued: “I have thought about you a lot this week, about you and the future, even though I had no time to discuss it with you directly. I came to the conclusion that you will not discover any knowledge here that might help you in the future.”

She suddenly felt as if the blood froze inside her veins: “Excuse me?” Hermione asked overwhelmed. Had he not tried to encourage her just now? She had found a new sense of being on a mission just a few minutes ago, when her reason finally won over her fears – now he told her such a discouraging thing?

“It’s not that your stay here is superfluous,” Dumbledore explained with a grave expression, “but that I really thought about your assumption of what you were supposed to do here. You’re here for one person, for Tom, as I now know, and if you look at the matter reasonably, there is no reason to believe you would be able to gather any information in this time that was not available to you in the future – except for those things he might share with you himself.”

Hermione blinked in confusion. She blinked again, unable to process what he just said. While Dumbledore showed an indulgent smile, waiting for her to understand, she could only stare with her mouth hanging open. At last she gulped, blinked again, then she forced the words out of her mouth: “I’m supposed to make Riddle tell me something about himself that I can use against him in the future?”

The old man nodded: “That is exactly what I am thinking. If you give it some thought, you will certainly agree that it would be ridiculous to assume you would be able to gather any such information just by studying some books or perhaps even ask some of his so called friends. No, I am convinced that you are here to win his trust and find a weakness. Or at least a weakness in his plan for the future.”

“There was a weakness!” Hermione exclaimed: “His plan had a weakness and it still didn’t matter! He overlooked something or didn’t understand it or whatever, but there was something anyway! And still he came back and rose to power again!”

“Then perhaps it was not the right weakness?” Dumbledore suggested, obviously hoping again to learn more facts about future events. Hermione bit her own tongue before she accidentally explained the concept of motherly love and the protection it offered Harry, a concept that Voldemort didn’t understand when he raised his wand against Harry.

“Not the right one!” She spat full of frustration: “How many weaknesses do you think does a man like him have? He’s more powerful than any other wizard, perhaps even more powerful than yourself. He doesn’t know friendship, only hatred. He’ll never trust anyone!”

Dumbledore still seemed unbelievably calm: “Miss Granger, do not make the mistake and confuse Tom Riddle with the man you know from your future – for your own good. Yes, Tom is a boy who, despite his perfect exterior and remarkable charms, is cold and cruel on the inside. But he still is just a boy. He’s too young to have already come to terms with true loneliness and isolation. Perhaps he’ll open up if he meets another human who proves to be intelligent and better than the rest. Perhaps he’ll stop being cautious all of the times and drop one or two things you might find useful. You should never forget, regardless of how intelligent and rational he seems: He’s a boy of seventeen years, who presumably has not yet learned to control all of his emotions. Pride, striving to prove himself to others, especially those he might think of as equal, those things might loosen his tongue.”

Hermione fell silent. She knew Dumbledore was right, she had experienced herself that Riddle still had feelings and sometimes even was ruled by them. She had told herself many times already to not think of Tom Riddle as Voldemort. Still, what Dumbledore suggested just now basically meant to open up to Riddle, to open up to his charms, let him get to her, hoping he might open up to her in return. She shuddered at the thought of forming a friendship, even a pretend one, with such a wizard.

“You’re showing your emotions openly, Miss Granger,” Dumbledore smiled: “I can read how very much this thought displeases you. I assure you, if you actually succeed and get closer to Riddle, you will definitely contribute immensely to your future war. You can make a difference.”

He knew just too well which words were suited best to manipulate people into doing what he wanted them to do. Hermione had to admit that the thought of her making a difference was flattering. Perhaps the prophecy about Harry being the Chosen One who’ll take down Voldemort was not as important as everybody thought. She never thought much of divination anyway. Sure, Voldemort had marked Harry as his enemy, had suffered his first big defeat through him, had somehow formed this strange bond between their wands. But did all this actually mean Harry had to carry the burden alone? He was the symbol of hope and resistance, he was able to gather witches and wizards behind him. Certainly though that did not mean she, Hermione Granger, could never contribute anything of value herself, right? Obviously it had been her fate all along to go back in time, and whatever she had done here, it would have been successful, otherwise she would not have made herself go back in time and do it again, would she? If she thought about it, it was not that she might be able to make a difference. She had made a difference and she would do it again.

Smiling, she looked at Dumbledore: “You’re right. Perhaps I can find Riddle’s weakness, perhaps he’ll even let me in on his plans. You can count on me. I will fight for this.”

He smiled back at her. For a moment, Hermione just sat there, enjoying the calmness of the office, enjoying the feeling that whatever it was she would be doing, it would turn out good, because she had already done it before. Then she stood up, curtsied slightly and left his office.

On her way back to the Slytherin common room, Hermione thought about the next days. It would be too obvious if she started to act friendly towards Riddle right away. There also was a great chance that he would come back to her on his own. If she managed to not be as provoking and mean in their next conversation, the first step was done. Perhaps she could arrange it that he happened to see her looking something up, something about Dark Arts or anything alike. She should go to the library. Being interested in Dark Arts should not be too strange for a Slytherin. If he then stumbled upon her, she might be able to show him an interesting side of herself. Get his attention so he would forget to hate her.


	14. III

__

 

 

_We must believe that we are gifted for something,_

_and that this thing, at whatever cost, must be attained._

 

**\- Marie Curie.**


	15. III.1 - On a knife edge

„Miss Dumbledore, I’d like to talk to you for a moment, if you please?”

Hermione tried hard to suppress an annoyed moan. She had expected Slughorn would invite her to his Club sooner or later. That he now wanted to talk to her after class confirmed that suspicion. She forced a smile onto her lips, whispered a low “You can go ahead” to Abraxas and then turned to her professor.

Beaming and with open arms, Slughorn stepped in front of her: “I have to admit, I am beyond impressed with you, Miss Dumbledore. I’ve never met a woman who is so brilliantly gifted in my class. I have to be honest and tell you that I am speechless with excitement.”

“Thank you, sir,” Hermione simply replied. With one fluid motion she put the school bag on her shoulder while looking at him expectantly and a little bit impatiently. If he had anything more to say – which she assumed was the case – he should just say it.

“This Saturday I hold a little party for the most diligent of my students,” he finally continued, not at all impressed by her lack of enthusiasm: “To be honest, I never had the pleasure to invite a female student to one of these as of yet. It appears that girls of your age are usually not too interested in potions. You on the other hand seem outstandingly educated, so it would be my honour to have you as a regular guest in our small circle. Of course you need not worry,” Slughorn quickly added, “You won’t be the only girl present as every guest is allowed to bring a companion to these parties. Which applies for you, too, of course.”

“I am so honoured, professor,” Hermione answered with a slight nod of her head. Back in her own time she had not liked these meetings, but now that she had decided to no longer try to avoid Tom Riddle, the Slug-Club might prove to be an excellent opportunity to get closer to him. The way Slughorn was cosying up to her still bothered her, but as this was good for her plan, she did not reject his offer: “Of course I will be present on Saturday, sir.”

“Excellent,” Slughorn exclaimed, rubbing his hands together: “You will receive a formal invitation sometime this week with further details. I am truly looking forward to this first meeting of the year. You’ll be the shining light of the table.”

With an elegant motion that Hermione had not expected from this corpulent man, he took her hand and placed a small kiss on it. She could not help herself, she blushed seeing this archaic gesture. Obviously this pleased her professor even more as he actually winked at her, slightly inclined his head, and then finally let her leave the classroom. Unsure of what she should make of his behaviour, Hermione shook her head. This really was the forties – in her own time a gesture like that would seem ridiculous, but here signs of respect like this were the norm, she realised.

“Who would’ve thought that Slughorn someday would actually invite a woman?”

She froze. Of course Riddle waited outside the classroom. During the weekend she had not seen much of him – she actually had not seen Abraxas and many of the other seventh year students, either – but of course he would not lose interested in her just like that. Fine. She could as well get used to her new strategy right now and try to make her plan work.

She gave him a cool glare: “You’re waiting for me, Riddle?”

“Obviously,” Tom gave back while he began walking to their next class.

Something in the way he regarded her from head to foot made her shudder. Why did she get the impression that she was a rabbit that happened to find itself in the presence of a fox? Annoyed at herself, she shook that bad feeling while placing a sarcastic smile on her lips: “How attentive of you. Thank you.”

“So, will you go?”

“If my professor compliments me in such a way, I hardly can say no.”

Again his gaze fell upon her on an almost testing way, but whatever he was thinking, Hermione could not figure it out. She definitely felt he was up to no good, his eyes were cold and calculating, even if his words sounded casual and innocent. So she was surprised when he finally spoke: “Professor Slughorn surely told you that we’re allowed to bring a companion. I’ve attended alone as of now, because I never felt like taking a student who wasn’t invited herself. He’s told you that you’re the first girl, hasn’t he?”

Goosebumps ran all over Hermione’s body as she realised what his words implied. Somewhere in her alarm bells went off. Why should Tom Riddle be interested in taking her as a companion? She believed him when he said he did not want to go with someone undeserving, but nothing was preventing him from going alone again. Did he decide just like herself that he wanted to get to know her more? If so, was that good or bad news? Was she just a future victims whose weaknesses he wanted to uncover? She seriously doubted that he had friendly intentions in asking her out.

With as much composure as she could muster, she replied: “And you’re telling me this, because…?”

He hissed in annoyance: “I do not appreciate when people play dumb. I expect you to accompany me, of course. The most intelligent witch of the school should not go with anyone else but the most intelligent wizard.”

Shaking her head she answered: “We’re not one bit self-important, are we? Do not think you can bully me around like that, just because you payed me something akin to a compliment.”

In the meantime they arrived at the classroom for history and the hallway was filled with other students. Riddle stopped, bowing slightly down to her, and whispered so lowly that none of the surrounding students could hear him: “You’re feisty, Hermione. I do not like that. Not at all. I will give you one last chance, right here, right now. Take it. For your own sake. As you noticed, I am capable and more than willing to use different methods if I don’t get my way. So. Go to Slughorn’s party with me.”

Hermione swallowed, her mouth suddenly felt dry. So she was right, he actually was testing her, he wanted to find out more about herself and if she did not comply, her life might be over. Great. She managed to make Voldemort mad enough in just one week that he would rather see her dead. Congratulations.

“I never said I won’t do it, Tom!” Hermione replied as cold as possible. Internally, she trembled with fear, but she was determined to not let it show: “I only said that I won’t let you bully me around. If you ask nicely, I might actually agree.”

For a moment his gaze grew even colder and Hermione feared she might have crossed the final line after all. Then, from one second to the other, the hateful expression vanished and was replaced by a most charming smile. Elegantly, he stepped back, held out his hand, and asked for everyone to hear: “Miss Dumbledore, would you do me the honour and accompany me to Professor Slughorn’s party on Saturday?”

Several gasps could be heard as the students that had not yet entered the classroom realised what was happening before their eyes. Never before had their beloved, highly respected head boy Tom Riddle given any girl so much attention, let alone invited her to the Slug-Club. Hermione was only too aware that many students openly stared at her, but that was not the problem she had to worry about just now. She did not understand Riddle’s actions and that made her uncomfortable.

“It would be my honour, Mr Riddle,” she finally replied with her sweetest voice while she took his hand and smiled warmly at him. If he wanted to play a game, he could have it. She would not back down. For the shortest moment her confident response through Riddle off, but instantly his smile was back again. Like Professor Slughorn did before, he placed a small kiss on her hand, before turning around to enter the classroom. He sat down in his usual spot as if nothing had happened.

Hermione felt a bit faint. His charming, friendly behaviour made her even more uncomfortable than his cold, hostile actions, as the latter was honest at least. She was happy to spot the blonde hair of Abraxas in the crowd, especially since she noticed more and more unfriendly faces around her.

“Tom invited you to Slughorn?” Abraxas wanted to know as soon as he was at her side.

Together they entered the classroom, but Hermione halted before she sat down next to Riddle: “It appears so.”

“Tom has never taken a girl with him. He always told us that it was beneath him to show up with uninvited guests”, Abraxas gave back, raising one eyebrow.

Angrily, Hermione snapped: “It just so happens that I am an invited guest. Professor Slughorn was kind enough to invite me after our last potions class. Why else, do you think, did he want to speak with me after class just now?”

Apologetically he raised his hands: “I didn’t mean to insult you, Hermione, truly I didn’t. I was just surprised. Especially when I think about how you told me that you don’t like Tom. It appears to be the case the other way around, too.”

“He thinks that only the smartest wizard had the right to ask out the most intelligent witch”, she explained shaking her head.

Again Abraxas looked surprised: “That’s a huge compliment coming from Tom.”

“Somehow I doubt that he meant it in a positive way,” Hermione murmured, but her attention already wandered off. She noticed that Riddle had turned around and overlooked her quiet conversation with Abraxas with obvious annoyance. His face was blank, but Hermione could sense that he was fuming on the inside. But why?

“Hermione,” Abraxas whispered nearly inaudible, “you don’t have to pretend to hate Tom in front of me. You really don’t. I would like it and see it as a sign of your trust if you were open to me. You don’t have to be ashamed of your feelings. Every girl in Hogwarts likes him anyway, and now that he asked you out, you have more reason than anyone else to like him.”

“I am honest with you!” Hermione shot back indignantly, but the hurt look on his face showed her that he did not believe her: “What do you want to hear? Riddle asked me out in front of everyone. It was impossible to reject him.”

Before Abraxas could reply, Professor Binns entered the room and forced them to sit down. Thankful, Hermione noticed that Riddle seemed to have decided to ignore her for the rest of the class.

* * *

 

“So you made the new girl your date?”

Abraxas froze upon hearing these words from Humphrey. They sounded cold, arrogant, and derisive – a tone no one had used for a long time now when talking to Tom. Humphrey Avery of all people should know to not disrespect Tom Riddle. Still, internally he thanked his classmate, because he wanted to know Tom’s motives, too.

“Do I detect disapproval?” Tom coldly replied.

Abraxas shuddered, but Humphrey obviously was not impressed – or perhaps just too simple-minded to notice how thin the ice suddenly became: “Yes, that’s right.”

Tom raised one eyebrow. Now at the latest Abraxas would have dropped the topic, because he knew that look: It was a certain sign that Tom had absolutely no sympathy for what the other said to him. Until recently, it had just been unwillingness to fight with his best friend that prevented Abraxas from going against Tom. After this weekend, however, and what he had witnessed together with a very small group of friends, he knew to not only respect Tom, but also fear him.

“You talked about how you needed our help on Sunday!” Avery continued hotly, but a bit more quiet now so only the three of them sitting in front of the fireplace: “You told us that if we want to help, we can’t let ourselves be distracted. No women, those were your words. Either go all in or not at all. And now you start something with a girl? Bloody Dumbledore’s niece of all people?”

“Oh, I see why you are confused, Humphrey,” Tom replied as quietly. He sounded as amiable as ever, but Abraxas doubted that it was sincere. Still smiling, Tom continued: “You think my interest in Miss Dumbledore is of romantic nature. But you’re wrong. If anyone lets his attention stray, it’s good old Abraxas here.”

With that, Tom let his hand fall heavily on Abraxas’ shoulder. An ice cold shudder ran down his spine. Tom smiled as usual, but his hand was heavy and almost painful on his shoulder. Did Tom really accuse him of paying too much attention to Hermione?

“Our dear friend is devoted to make Miss Dumbledore feel welcome in Hogwarts,” Tom continued, still smiling: “Even without my own words on Sunday, I would never have dared to pursue a girl that already caught the attention of so close a friend.”

Abraxas started to sweat when he noticed the cool stare of Avery. Tom’s hand still was on his shoulder, he was still smiling sweetly, and added: “As you see, no need to worry about me. I asked Miss Dumbledore to accompany me, because she is the first female student who received an invitation from Professor Slughorn. I just thought it would be right for a woman who caught the attention of our dear professor to accompany me and no one else.”

“What do you want with her?” Humphrey grunted with a dark look.

Abraxas suddenly remembered how Hermione told him several times that Tom did not like her, that he actually threatened her once. He never really believed her, thought she overreacted. But now, after what he saw his best friend do during the weekend – or was Tom even his friend? – after Hermione’s words before, he started to doubt himself. What if it really was hatred that defined their relationship? Had he unknowingly manoeuvred himself into a dangerous place by befriending Hermione?

“Nothing,” Abraxas replied way too late, while he tried to maintain a confident composure despite the heavy hand on his shoulder. He was a Malfoy, and Tom was despite his astounding magical ability still a nobody in this world. A Malfoy did not have to bow to anyone: “She appeared to be a smart, educated student, and she already proved several times that she actually is. It never is reprehensible to make powerful allies, don’t you think?”

For a moment, Avery assessed him sceptically, but then he nodded: “You’re right with that. Perhaps it’s not so bad to get close to someone who’s related to Dumbledore. I hate that guy. That a crazy man like him is even allowed to teach is beyond me.”

Contrary to Avery, Tom obviously had no intention of letting the topic drop like that. Still the hand rested heavy on his shoulder, still he looked at him with an intense, yet unreadable expression. Finally he said so quietly that even Humphrey could not hear him: “Hermione Dumbledore is not just any girl, Abraxas. You know what I am planning. I put my trust in you because you’re my closest, oldest friend. I regard few people as highly as I do you. Still, I will not put my plan at risk, my future, just because you are thinking with the wrong part of your body. I will not tolerate anyone who steps in my way.”

Abraxas swallowed hard, but he tried to not let his inner insecurities show: “I don’t understand why you’re telling me this.”

“Miss Dumbledore could prove to be a stumbling block. If you aren’t fully committed to me, you might be one, too.”


End file.
